Beautiful Today
by justagayshark
Summary: 'She hates what she sees. She hates it all, because Quinn told her to.' Santana needs saving, but no one seems to notice. Brittana.
1. Chapter One

**Title: **Beautiful Today  
**Pairing: **Brittany/Santana  
**Summary: **'She hates what she sees. She hates it all, because Quinn told her to.' Santana needs saving, but no one seems to notice. Brittana.  
**  
Spoilers: **None.  
**Warnings: **Deals with self harm and eating disorders throughout.

**Authors Note: **I have never been through this myself, and so I am not writing from experience. I have helped friends going through similar situations, but never experienced it personally. I know that some details may be inaccurate, but I am simply going off what I have read and seen. I am sorry if I don't get this right for some people, as I know that this story touches on many sensitive issues, and I don't mean to offend anyone with what I write. I have researched, but I am still writing something that is completely new for me.

Anyway, on with the story! Santana's boob job really stunted me. The whole thing just seemed so random, and it seems like the writers of the show simply used it for a plot line in one episode and then dropped it completely (apart from a few remarks here and there). I don't like that. I think that if someone that seems as self-assured as Santana changes something about herself like that, then there is a reason. I thought that there was insecurity there, and I wanted to explore that. Only then did the stories of anorexia/bulimia and self-harm/suicide start to surface all over the internet and news, and this went from exploring Santana's body issues into something deeper. That makes it slightly A/U, but it still ties in with her character, relationship with others on the show, and storyline(s). Nothing too drastic is changed.

...that whole thing was like, more words than the story. So I'll shut up and simply say thank you for reading :)

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**Contains self-harm and eating disorders. If either of these things are a trigger for you, please think before reading on.**

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**CHAPTER ONE**

_I'm losing myself..._

Santana was twelve when it began. She remembers it well, the first day that she heard a name thrown in her direction and the muted giggles of multiple people follow. The muted giggles of who she_ thought _were her friends. It only took her wearing the wrong thing that day; wearing the sweatshirt that her mother had bought her, and that she had actually quite liked, to make them turn on her. They told her she dressed like a five year old, told her that she belonged in kindergarten, that the she looked ugly in the apparently offending outfit.

Her friends. The friends that she had made during her first week in middle school, that she had been with throughout the whole first year and was just beginning her second year with. Her friends. The friends that had been to her house and met her parents, that had laughed and joked with her, were now the ones laughing _at_ her.

It hurt. It hurt more than she could ever remember anything hurting before.

It wasn't so bad the first time, she managed to laugh along, hiding the pain that every word struck in her chest. She even made sure to pick her outfit out carefully the following day; wearing something that she knew they liked, that she knew Quinn liked. Quinn was the one who was hurling the abuse, was the mastermind behind the comments that elicited so much hushed laughter. But Quinn would like this, she was sure. Quinn wouldn't say another bad word and it would all be forgotten, just playground games.

She was wrong.

It happened again that day, and the next, and then the week after that. Every day was filled with comments, laughter. She had only a small group of friends, and she and Quinn were always the leaders. If there were to be a sleepover, it would be at either of their houses. Any activities would be organised by the two girls. If someone new wanted to come along and join in their games during recess, it was always Quinn or Santana that would send them on their way or let them cautiously in. But now, Quinn was the sole leader of the pack. She had decided to focus all of her attention on Santana; decided that _she_ would be pushed out, that_ she_ would be victimised.

Santana doesn't know what she's done wrong. She regrets the day that she wore that sweater every second, wishes that she hasn't, but she knows that it is not that simple. She knows, even at the tender age of twelve, that Quinn was probably just waiting for a reason to become the top girl, waiting to eliminate her competition. The sweater gave her something to aim for, something to use against her.

She wishes it was still only that one thing that Qinn had in her repertoire, had to alienate her with.

"Oh my god!" she heard the blonde almost scream as she walked in one Monday morning, her head instantly falling to the ground, trying to somehow move her hair further onto her face to hide what she knew they had seen. "I didn't know Satan had four eyes!"

The whole class erupts into laughter as Santana heads to her seat, still refusing to look up, to face their giggles or their stares. She never once looks up, she just listens to the insults and pretends they don't exist. She hears Quinn, she hears the bombardment of comments and the amused reactions, but she doesn't once see her judgemental eyes as she speaks.

She wishes she could. She wishes she could retort, that she could somehow find the voice within her dry throat to retaliate. But she never does. She can't even find the strength to lift her head, her gaze. So she allows her hair to blanket the world around her, to cover her eyes, and she takes it.

She finally turns thirteen, telling her mother that she simply doesn't want a party and would rather do something as a family, cleverly missing out the part about having absolutely nobody to invite. She is told that her mom and dad can't get the same time off, and so it would have to be just the two of them or nothing at all. Santana is used to this, used to her parents hardly ever crossing paths, so she simply nods with a smile.

She jumps into her mother's waiting car that night, having completed her first day of school as a thirteen year old. She thought it would change something, but it hasn't. She lets out a sigh of relief as she buckles her seatbelt, the excitement of the prospect of a night spent bowling and eating pizza making the day not seem all that bad, when her mother speaks. "I've been called into work, sweetie. I have to drop you off at the sitters."

She wants to remind her mother of their plans, tell her that it is _so_ not okay to do that. She wants to object, but instead she nods. She nods, looks at her hands lying limply on her lap, and allows her hair to fall comfortingly beside her face. It always feels better when she can't see anything.

Her next birthday is the same, as is every single day leading up to it.

"Satan," Quinn cackles every day as she walks through the door, this day no different. Santana instantly looks away, focusing solely on her desk as she quickly walks towards it. She stays silent, of course. Because nothing ever changes. Nothing will ever change. "Wow, someone treated themselves this weekend," the blonde girl continues, perched upon a boys desk at the back of the room, surrounded by adoring fans. One thing had changed, Santana notes, and that was Quinn's almost rapid rise in popularity. She was untouchable, even at fourteen. "You might want to lay off the calories for a while, honey. Just an idea."

That ones new, and that one cuts even deeper. She almost feels it physically knock the wind out of her as she forces the emerging tears to go back to where they came from. She had never once cried in school, never once cried in front of them. She likes to think that it's because she will not give them the satisfaction; that she won't let them see what they want to see, to achieve their goal, when really it's only because she knows she would never be able to stop. Every night, the only thing that stops the steady stream of tears is sleep. She wishes she could always escape that way, that she could always just be asleep.

She thinks the fat joke was just for that day, just so Quinn could spice up and vary her slander. She thinks, and she wishes, but she's wrong. She says it again the next day, a quick "those jeans are looking tighter" following the day after. Santana knows it is wrong, but it gets to her. It gets to her so much that she finds her thirteen-year-old self stripped bare and staring at her reflection in her mother's mirror, finds herself scanning her body through bloodshot eyes, finds a tear dropping from her damp face and falling to the ground in front of her. She hates what she sees. She hates her glasses, she hates her hair, she hates her body, she hates her teeth, she hates her nose, her arms, her legs, her feet. She hates it all, because Quinn told her to. She hates the blonde for pointing out all of her flaws, for making her notice them, for making her face the truth. She hates her, and she hates herself.

So she turns fourteen, finally matching Quinn's final digit, and again hopes that it might change something. It doesn't. If anything, it makes it worse. "You're going to be in high school next year, Satan. Ugly girls barely survive high school," she had sneered as she passed her in the bathroom, her fan-club following not far behind and making sure to emphasise their evil laughter. "You don't have much time to lose that, Satan," she had said another day, "you can't blame puppy fat any more."

They had only just begun their last year of middle school, but already Santana spent almost every night in worry of her future in high school. 'Ugly girls barely survive' is a constant in her mind as she stares at herself yet again, taking in every inch of the body that she hates so much, of the body that seems to be hers. She wishes it wasn't, wishes she could swap for someone else's. But it is, and she can't, so she cries.

She doesn't spend much time with her mother, or her father for that matter. They always make sure that there is someone in the house with her, but they usually work from the moment they she gets in from school until after she goes to bed at night. They offer her dinner, out of courtesy she's sure, and then disappear back into their office. She hates it, but it's all she's known for a while now, so it's okay. At least they're there, she figures, and one of them hasn't just up and left. Sometimes she wishes they weren't together any more. They avoid each other like the plague, so maybe if one were gone then the other would be around more. She shakes those thoughts from her head as she sits in front of the TV, ice cream in one hand and spoon in the other. It's then that she hears the office door open, her mother poking her head into the room moments later. "It's time for bed, honey," she smiles, turning her attention to the screen for a second before pulling out of the room. "Oh," she remembers as she begins to walk, backtracking and again peering around the door frame. "Try to stop eating so much junk food, Santana. You don't want it all catching up to you."

That is when it all goes so horribly badly.

She sends her mother a fake smile, enough to get the woman back to her office, and upon hearing the door close she heads to the kitchen. She almost races to the trash can, flinging it open and throwing away the half-eaten tub. She feels tears stinging, burning her face as she throws the spoon into the sink, leaning over it wish heavy breaths. It seems like such an easy option right now, to stick her fingers to the back of her throat and force everything she has just eaten back into the sink. It seems so easy, so _okay_, that it terrifies her. She feels dizzy, gripping the counter desperately to keep her standing, tears falling into the sink and slowly finding their way to the plug hole. It's like everything is moving so slowly, yet so _incredibly_ fast. She could do it, right now. She could finally take charge of herself, be the one controlling how she feels, what she does, who she is. She could just do it, make herself feel better, make it all go away. She could do it and her mother would never care. She could do it and maybe, just maybe, Quinn's voice inside of her head will go away. Maybe the laughs will get a little quieter, maybe her chest will hurt a little less.

So she does.

Santana hopes; once she has cleared up the mess and calmed her frantic, terrified breaths, poking her head through her mother's office door to say goodnight, that the woman will notice. That she will be able to tell. The thought scares her, almost makes her race up to bed without saying a word, but she could notice. She could notice and care. _Actually_ care. "Goodnight mom," she says with a smile, an unintentional quiver in her voice as she speaks. Her hands are still shaking, she notices, clearly her body not recovering from her previous actions.

"Night honey," she replies, not once looking away from the sheet of paper that currently has her undivided attention. Santana hovers for a moment, hoping, before pulling the door shut again and slowly walking the stairs to her bedroom. Of course she wouldn't notice. Of course she wouldn't care. Santana hates herself for the false hope.

She walks into school the next day without her eyes staring down at the ground. As wrong as she knows it is, she feels different. She feels confident, confident that Quinn will notice the change, will see that Santana_ is_ in control.

"You're not supposed to eat the _whole_ tub of ice-cream in one go, you know that right?"

The ground suddenly becomes her one focus yet again, her shoulders slumping as she quickly takes her seat. She feels stupid for thinking that it might change, that Quinn would see. But she can feel it. She knows that no matter what they say, they will see it one day. She knows that she is in control, that she can prove Quinn wrong, prove her mother wrong. They might not know now, but they _will_ know. She will have the body that she wants, she will have a body that _everyone _wants. She will be that person.

"That was mean..."

Her eyes almost bulge from their sockets at the sound of a small, timid voice interrupting the dying laughter of the rest of the class. She allows her hair to continue safely curtaining her face as she stops trying to block out the noise, the insults. She doesn't recognise the voice, but Quinn's snappy reply is just as quick as ever. "Nobody asked you...and who the hell are you, anyway?" Her voice sounded genuinely confused, like this girl had been planted in this room out of nowhere. Which, in all fairness, did seem to be the case.

"But you were being a bully, and bullies are bad," she replied simply, like it was the most obvious answer in the world. Santana couldn't help but lift her head a little now, trying to turn around slightly without being noticed by Quinn. "And I'm Brittany," the girl completed. When Santana finally saw her, sat only a few chairs away from the desk that housed Quinn, she was actually smiling. Smiling like she hadn't just answered back to the head bitch, like she hadn't just been handed a death sentence and sealed her fate all in one small sentence.

Santana saw Quinn rise from the desk, crossing her arms tightly and raising an questioning eyebrow. "You're new, right?"

Brittany's smile grew as she nodded, getting to hear feet much like Quinn, taking a few bouncy steps until she was almost face to face with the girl. "We moved here last week," she beamed.

Quinn paused for a moment, simply staring at her. The rest of her group seemed to do the same, a few turning their noses up at the girl, others with shocked expressions on their faces. It had been a long time, if ever, since they heard anyone speak so casually to Quinn. Everyone was cautious about what they they said to her, absolutely everybody, and they had good reason to be. "Okay, whatever," the shorter blonde finally sighed, unfolding her arms. "Let me make this simple for you. That thing," she almost spat, pointing a harsh finger in Santana's direction. The latina instantly looked away, pretending not to have been watching the girl in the first place. "You don't speak to her, you don't even acknowledge her, and you _definitely_ don't defend her." Brittany's face crumpled instantly, confusion within every inch of her features. She didn't understand why this girl was being so mean, or why she hated the other girl so much. And also; acknowledge? "Get that straight, and me and you won't have a problem."

Brittany thought for a moment longer, until it hurt in fact, but she still couldn't work it out. "Why?" she finally asked, her confusion only growing when a few of the people sat around them gasped. She didn't understand how they would find the word 'why' to be so shocking, people said it all the time.

"_Why?_" Quinn shot back, brows almost flying from her forehead as they shot up. "Look at her!" she laughed bitterly, not alone in her notion as a hand full of people around her did the same.

Brittany turned to look. She couldn't see her face, just the back of her head. She had very dark hair, almost black, and she seemed to be ducking down a little, her shoulders slumped forward. Brittany didn't understand what was wrong with her. "What am I looking for?" she asked, genuinely baffled.

There was silence again, and Quinn's arms had returned to tightly fold across her chest. "She's a loser," she replied, "and if you don't want to be one too, I would shut up."

Brittany's eyebrows furrowed, a frown appearing on her lips almost instantly. "Don't call her that."

Santana couldn't help it when she was rendered almost breathless. She actually felt like crying. Those simple, four words were all she had been hoping so badly to hear for so, _so_ long. For someone to care, to defend her. It's all she had hoped for, prayed for, cried herself to sleep imagining. She didn't even know who this girl was, and she didn't know Santana either, but she cared enough to do something. She _cared_.

"She hasn't done anything wrong," Brittany continued, glancing quickly at the back of Santana's head before looking back into the furious hazel of Quinn's eyes.

"How the _hell_ would you know what she's done?" she replied violently, hands falling beside herself in clenched fists as she took a step forwards.

Brittany didn't even seem phased by the movement, her expression unchanging. "She just walked in and you called her names," she pointed out, the same frown still on her face. She didn't understand why anyone would be mean to someone else, especially when the other person didn't deserve to be picked on in the first place. She knew that she had missed something, and that maybe the small, dark haired girl had done something in the past, but no one else was saying anything to help. She was sat at her desk, almost flinching when anything was said about her. She looked sad, even from behind, and Brittany didn't like that at all. "You shouldn't call people names. It makes them sad."

Santana couldn't help but notice that the girl sounded so young. It may have had something to do with the fact that she was used to the all too knowledgeable Quinn Fabray; that she was used to almost instant retorts and snappy remarks, used to attitudes that went well beyond their fourteen years. But Brittany sounded so innocent as she spoke. It made Santana smile.

"To be honest, I don't really care," Quinn replied in a tone that tried to be nonchalant, but came out dripping with anger. She completed it with a quick shrug. "She's a loser, and she knows it. That's why she never says anything back, isn't that right Satan?"

Santana's smile disappeared, her jaw clenching. She wanted desperately to have some of the strength that Brittany had, but she knew she didn't. Instead, she slumped even further forwards, pretending not to be paying attention yet again. She felt like this was it, that the glimmer of hope that seemed to come her way in the form of Brittany would soon be taken away. That Quinn will have her throwing insults at Santana, in perfect harmony with the rest of the class, within days. She was talking about her to Brittany like she wasn't even in the room, like she didn't even exist, didn't matter. She hated it.

"Satan?" Brittany's confused voice chimed in. "That's a funny name."

There was disbelieving silence again. "Great, so now we have a loser _and _a retard?"

There was a few gasps that accompanied the inevitable snickering this time, a few people clearly thinking the girl had taken things too far. Not that they would ever voice their opinions. Brittany's frown just reappeared on her lips, shaking her head slightly. "I'm not a retard," she defended weakly.

"It's a good job, really," Quinn continued regardless. "I mean, Satan couldn't be alone forever. She needed someone else that would actually bother to waste their time with her. Probably best that it's someone as...special as you."

"Thank you!" the cheery reply came, clearly not grasping the sarcasm that filled Quinn's words. Her smile was wide, and nearly everyone in the room burst into laughter.

Santana couldn't take it. She couldn't the fact that the first person to stand up for her had instantly become a victim, that_ she_ had caused somebody else to become a target. It was her fault. No one else would help her now, no one else would talk to her. She would be alone, just like she felt she always had been. She couldn't remember a time that she woke up in the morning and looked forward to her day, that she walked through the doors and wasn't greeted with bitter remarks thrown from her former friend and all those surrounding her. She doesn't remember anything but this. Anything but the constant, unrivalled, cruel pain that she carried with her throughout every second of the day, that was so sharp and unrelenting in her chest.

She rose from her chair, seeing a tear land softly on the desk in front of her. She was unable to contain the sob that accompanied her actions, that sounded throughout the room. She quickly ran, ran for the door, ran for air. She ran away from Quinn, away from the people that taunted her, the people that watched and did nothing, the girl that she had now caused to feel just as awful as she did every day. She didn't stop once she had reached the outside, the quick call of 'finally, exercise!' only pushing her further through the almost empty hallways. Her head was spinning as she crashed through the door of the girls bathroom, only glancing to see that all of the stalls were empty before falling into one and locking the door behind her.

She hadn't planned to do it, but even when she was half way there she knew what was coming. She ached to do it, she _needed_ to. It made her feel better, feel more confident. She slowed her breathing for a moment, making sure that she could hear no one else in the room, before she lifted her fingers to her mouth.

Suddenly she heard the door open, pausing as her hand hovered close to her lips. She stayed silent, waiting for the person to do what they needed to do and leave. She _needed _to do this. There was a few moments of silence, confusing silence. Why wasn't the girl doing anything?

"...Satan?"

She pulled her hand away completely at the sound of the familiar, yet completely new, voice. It was soft, unsure, questioning. Santana turned herself away from the bowl, towards the door. She couldn't see Brittany, obviously, but she could see the girl's shadow becoming larger as she neared the door. The latina slowly stood, as silent as possible, and quickly began to wipe her eyes with her sleeve. She hadn't even noticed the tears that seemed to have pooled on her cheeks during all the commotion, and she was sure that her eyes were as red and puffy as they felt.

"Satan, is that you?" the voice came again, the shadow stopping and two feet now visible through the gap at the bottom of her stall.

Santana couldn't help but laugh, inwardly of course. The name that she had been called so harshly over the years, that had been used as an insult against her, and Brittany was now saying it so calmly, almost friendly in her tone. It was ironic, but remembering the earlier clash of the two blondes, she realised that Brittany seemed to take it as Santana's actual name. She couldn't help the dry laugh that escaped her lips this time. "It's Santana," she offered meekly, standing completely still as the feet below the door confirmed that Brittany was doing the same.

"That's good," the blonde sighed with relief on the other side, shifting slightly. Santana could hear a smile in her voice. "Satan's a boys name, but I didn't want to be mean and tell you. I think I knew someone with that name before, but I don't really remember who. I feel like I have heard it before, y'know?" she wondered out loud, Santana's lips slowly curling into something that vaguely resembled a smile. "Santana is much prettier."

Nearly two years. It had been nearly two years since someone did that, since someone complimented her. Sure, she got the occasional, and mandatory, admiring comment from her parents. But that always seemed so fake. Her mother would look up from her cellphone for a moment, brush Santana's cheek and tell her she was growing into a 'beautiful young woman', and then be gone again. She doesn't remember the last time that someone genuinely complimented her, with meaning, even if it was for something as trivial as her name. The only time, in school, that she ever received a compliment was when a teacher graded her paper. That just didn't feel the same. The small hint of a smile that had found it's way to her lips earlier grew. "Thank you," she replied eventually, as sincere as she could possibly be.

"How come they don't use your real name?" Brittany asked eventually, and Santana heard her lean against the door.

She sighed, though the grin on her face wouldn't leave. "They do it because they know I don't like it," she began, taking a slow step and turning sideways, leaning herself against the other side of the door. She knew it was weird, because there was at least half an inch of thick wood between them, but Santana could feel the warmth from the girl stood outside. She was sure she could. She didn't know whether it was because this was the closest she had intentionally stood next to anyone in school for a _very_ long time without being tormented, or because she was finally talking to someone who was willing, and seemed to cherish the chance, to listen to her. She decided not to over-analyse. It felt nice, this feeling that she had. New, but nice. Almost like friendship.

"Why would they do that?" Brittany's shocked, yet still unbelievably soft, voice came again.

Santana wondered where the hell the girl came from, why she seemed to shocked that one person could be so mean towards another. She wanted to transfer to whatever school that was, taking Brittany back with her. Taking her away from the impending doom that she faced by even talking to Santana civilly, let alone standing up to Quinn Fabray in her defence. She thought it must have been the best place to be, her old school, especially if everybody there was just like Brittany. "They don't like me," she answered after a short silence. "We were friends up until about two years ago, and then they all just sorta'...decided I wasn't a part of that any more."

There was another pause. "That sucks," the reply came, simple yet full of empathy. "My mom always says that your true friends are the ones that stick by you no matter what."

Santana really wanted to meet her mother, too. She sounded like what _her_ mom should be, what she used to be. She smiled a sad smile. "I don't think I've ever had a true friend," she sighed. "I don't really have any friends."

She was sure she heard a gasp, and the weight on the other side of the door suddenly disappeared. "You don't have friends?" she asked in disbelief. Santana blushed, embarrassed at her admittance and the reaction it received. As if she needed to feel even more ridiculous than she knew she looked. She glanced to her left momentarily, the bowl of the toilet again catching her eye. She felt her stomach turn. "Who do you talk to?"

She didn't stop looking to her left, to the object that she had been leaning over just moments earlier, fingers ready to force their way against her gag reflex just like they had the night before. "Nobody," she answered, voice guarded and cold with her simple reply.

There was more silence, this time lasting for much longer. Santana found herself gravitating towards the toilet. She was only a half-step away from where she was previously, but she had moved. She felt pulled towards it, like it was tempting her, telling her to just do it and make herself feel better. It worked last night, her mind pointed out, so it would no doubt work again. She could go back to class with her head held just a little higher, because she was in control, not Quinn. She didn't decide who she was any more, she wouldn't let her.

There was a soft knock on the stall door, pulling Santana from her thoughts and stopping her foot from taking the next step that she had already begun. She paused, turning her head, half expecting Brittany to be watching her every move. She sighed with relief when she was met with the murky white of the stall door. She hesitantly edged forwards, wordlessly reaching for the lock and letting her hand hover there for a moment. She could let Brittany in; let her see her sad eyes, the tracks that her tears had left behind on her cheek. Or she could do what her head was screaming at her do to, to push her away so that she could get on with it. Brittany was not a sure-fire way to happiness, to a feeling of satisfaction. Brittany wasn't a certainty, not like her own ability to simply turn her away and return to the toilet. She was a certainty, because she was in control. She needed certainty.

She didn't understand, then, why she found herself opening the lock, new tears emerging in her eyes as her trembling hand slowly allowed the blonde to come into view. Brittany was simply looking at her, slightly sympathetic but also full of intrigue. Santana wasn't sure if she liked it, the scrutiny. Wasn't sure if she liked the way the girl's blue eyes were piercing as they looked into hers. She didn't have much time to think it through, however, because she quickly found herself falling helplessly into the already strong arms in front of her, crying into the shoulder of her heroic stranger.

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**A/N:** Also, anyone that watched the trailer for this fic on Youtube, the reaction seemed really good. So I hope this didn't disappoint too much!  
The next chapter is written, along with the two after that. Updates should be constant :)


	2. Chapter Two

**Title: **Beautiful Today  
**Pairing: **Brittany/Santana  
**Summary: **'She hates what she sees. She hates it all, because Quinn told her to.' Santana needs saving, but no one seems to notice. Brittana.

**Spoilers: **None.  
**Warnings: **Deals with self harm and eating disorders throughout.

**Authors Note: **This chapter is much shorter, but is pretty important with regards to how the storyline develops. I'm not sure I like this one, but that could have something to do with the fact that I just proof-read it one last time, after doing the same with all of my English Language college work, and am_ very_ tired of words in general right now...regardless, it's here.  
I said in the last chapter's A/N that updates will be constant, I shall change that to consistent and give the upload date of Saturday. They will sometimes be before then, but I will hopefully never fall behind.  
Thanks again for reading and for all of the reviews. I didn't expect so many and am _so_ grateful! I'm glad that you are enjoying the story, and I will try to find some time in the week to reply to each of you personally.

Anyway, enough of my crap. On with my fictional crap!

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**Contains self-harm and eating disorders. If either of these things are a trigger to you, please think before reading on.**

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**CHAPTER 2  
**_Don't know where to turn..._

Santana didn't know how long they had stood there. She did know, however, that Brittany had not moved an inch. Her arms remained still and strong around her waist, she remained silent, and Santana's face remained buried in the crook of her neck. She had began to talk, her words coming out in muffled sounds that neither girl really understood. She had cried, cried more than she thought was even possible, and she could feel the moisture sinking into Brittany's T-shirt, spreading slowly. It seemed like forever before she finally stopped, before she found herself taking long breaths in an attempt to calm herself and her heaving chest. She felt dizzy as she pulled away, felt sick. That feeling just made her even dizzier.

She didn't look at Brittany, didn't meet her eyes. She felt them burning into her as she slowly stepped back, but she never looked up. The taller girl wordlessly brushed past her, entering the stall, re-emerging moments later with tissue paper in hand. She handed it to Santana, this time the latina meeting her with a thankful nod, and she smiled sympathetically.

Santana doesn't remember anything else being said, in fact she's pretty sure that they stand there in silence, until she has wiped her face clean and quickly splashed her cheeks with water. She had turned to Brittany, who nodded in approval, and they walked to class side by side.

"Where have you two been?" the teacher scolded sternly as they walked through the door.

For the first time since she could remember, and without even noticing herself, Santana had walked into the room without having her eyes focused on the ground. She even dared a glance to the back of the room, where she saw Quinn simply staring at her, before snapping her attention away. It felt like a physical blow, even without words being spoken, to see the girl scrutinising her like that. She turned to the teacher, swallowing hard as excuses escaped her. She glanced at the clock; fifteen minutes late. They had been in the bathroom for twenty minutes. She looked around at the other people in the class, noticing their attention slowly turn back to their work, before taking a step closer to Mrs Powell, who was still awaiting her answer. "...Girl problems," she whispered, receiving an understanding nod in reply. That excuse was never pressed or questioned further when it came to teenagers, and she knew it. What she didn't know then was just how much her ability to lie would be abused in her future.

They didn't even speak for the rest of the day, and Santana couldn't decide if she was glad of that fact. Once they had taken their seats in class again, she quickly glanced in Brittany's direction, seeing her looking back and flashing a thankful smile. It was returned, and that was that. When the lesson ended, Santana quickly pulled all of her belongings together, just like she did every day, and exited almost instantly. It was becoming routine. She always got out to dodge as soon as she could, knew where in their school she could go to be out of the way of Quinn and the others.

She left almost before the lesson even ended, much to Brittany distaste. She frowned as she watched the girl go, racing through the door. She had expected her to wait, at least offer her a thank you, somehow build on their new bond further than they already had. Their first conversation had already bulldozed all of the usual boundaries, those limitations that you are supposed to set, the time it is supposed to take before you can cry on your friends shoulder and let yourself fall apart in front of them. Brittany hadn't expected Santana to suddenly burst into tears, to collapse into her, but when the girl did then she knew what to do. Nothing. Nothing but be there, let her know that she wasn't alone.

She had tried to be quick when placing all of her belongings into her backpack and flinging it over her shoulder, but even when she ran into the hallway and looked both ways, she couldn't see her. She was gone.

A few painfully long hours later and school was finally over. Santana had found herself in the bathroom one more time that day, but somehow manage to resist what she wanted so desperately to do. She had waited for there to be silence, but it never came, so she scurried off to her final lesson of the day and took her seat. She didn't share this lesson with Quinn, but she still found a paper aeroplane hitting her and falling to her desk. She scrunched it up instantly, pretending that she hadn't read what was written.

Her mother had picked her up, taking a phone call through her Bluetooth headset from the moment she got into the car until they pulled up outside their house; even then she had managed to continue, swinging the front door open before heading straight for the office. She simply left Santana to close the door behind them, to occupy herself.

Santana had sat straight in front of the TV, as she always did, and quickly flicked through the channels until she found something decent. It could have only been five minutes before her mind wandered. She was hungry. She was hungry, and she knew that her mother would be unable to make her dinner tonight with the amount of work that lay on her desk. But she was hungry, _so_ hungry. She told herself that she wasn't, that the rumbling of her stomach and the empty feeling that accompanied it was a good thing. She had control over this. She did. She tried to wipe Quinn's words from that day out of her mind, them repeating in a viscous circle, just like they did every night. She tried to wipe the message on the paper aeroplane from her memory, tried to pretend that the laughter didn't exist. But she was hungry. The television meant nothing any more, it was simply noise that was being overpowered by all of the words that were rapidly filling every inch of her mind. She was fat, this feeling was good. This empty feeling. She wouldn't give in to it.

But she was_ so _hungry.

She snapped. She rose from the couch and out of the room in almost one movement, quickly opening the refrigerator and looking inside. It was full, everything neat and untouched. She lifted the leftover Chinese cartons that she saw the corner, pulling out four in total. She ate every one. She ate everything in every carton, so fast that it felt like she had eaten nothing. So she went back, her stomach screaming at her now. She pulled out anything she could find, starting with yoghurt, quickly finding chocolate and sandwich meat. Everything. It all tasted _so_ good, and the ache in her stomach was gone, a feeling of ecstasy taking over her and making her heart race.

She placed a spoonful of yoghurt to her lips, her eyes that were forcefully closed finally opening and looking at the mess around her. She pushed the food into her mouth with a sob, taking in what she saw. There were empty wrappers everywhere, all from left over food or snacks that her mother had bought earlier that day. They were lying empty, empty because of Santana. She had eaten it all. Suddenly Quinn's voice was back, louder than ever. Her heart thudded as she slammed the yoghurt to the counter, a tear tracing her cheek as it quickly escaped her quivering face.

She had lost all control. Quinn had been right, they had all been right. She couldn't do this, she was fat. She was ugly. She would never be what Quinn was, she_ could _neverbe what Quinn was. She had failed. She couldn't stop herself.

It was then that it hit her, harder than it had all day or had the night before. She remembered the only way to make this better, to make her feel better. She remembered the feeling. Before she could even process her thoughts, she was stood at the sink, her fingers rising to her mouth. She pushed them in, forcing them back as far as she could, a strange feeling of satisfaction coming over her when she saw the multitude of colours cascading onto the surface of the empty sink, each one belonging to the foods she had eaten just moments before. She did it again, not satisfied. She purged for a second time, this time removing her drenched fingers from her mouth. Her throat burned as the flow stopped. She dry heaved, her breaths frantic as she looked down into the mess she had made. She gripped the sink, light-headed, and focused on steadying herself.

She had done it. As she stared at the sight in front of her, a wave of pride overcame her body. It was gone, and _she_ had made it go. She could do this. She had control again; not Quinn, not the girls voice that had forced her to the refrigerator in the first place. She straightened herself up, her head still spinning and breathing unsteady. She glanced down one last time before turning on the tap, watching it all disappear, being washed away. It was gone, and _she_ had made it go.

She turned off the water once it had all disappeared, turning around and facing the mess of wrappers that she had left behind. She made her way over, robotically picking up each item and placing them into the rubbish bin that sat behind her. Everything was soon cleaned up, and with one last check of the sink, she made her way back into the lounge and lay down on the couch. Her head was spinning, no matter how much she tried to ignore it, and she quickly covered her face with her hands. She took long breaths, trying to get her head around what had happened, trying to get over the sudden rush that she felt. She knew that she shouldn't feel it, knew that what she had done was dangerous. She wasn't naive enough to believe that it was the normal method of losing weight; healthy diet and exercise, she had been told throughout her school years, was the 'only way to a healthy lifestyle'. But she needed to get rid of it, she needed to do it fast. This was the only way she knew.

She didn't eat for the rest of the day, and went to bed earlier than usual. She hoped her mother would notice, would visit her room at some point in the night to make sure she was okay. She didn't. This time Santana ignored the hungry growling of her stomach as she lay in the dark. She let it sooth her, let her know that she held all the cards. Quinn's voice was much quieter that night, she noticed.

And she didn't cry.


	3. Chapter Three

**Title: **Beautiful Today  
**Pairing: **Brittany/Santana  
**Summary: **'She hates what she sees. She hates it all, because Quinn told her to.' Santana needs saving, but no one seems to notice. Brittana.

**Spoilers: **None.  
**Warnings: **Deals with self harm and eating disorders throughout.

**Authors Note: **I should never set upload dates. I should never set deadlines for anything I do, because they are never kept to! I apologise. I am currently, and had been all weekend, dying from an unknown illness and taking refuge in my bed. I feel like crap, but that's not important right now. I updated! I will try to make the wait shorter next time...though I will not deadline myself, 'cause it really does never end well.  
Thank you to everyone who has been reading and/or reviewing. Especially those who reviewed, and especially-especially those who left those long, in-depth reviews. I appreciate them, as I do them all, so thank you again!

Anyway, enough rambling. Time for Brittany to be epic again...

* * *

**CHAPTER 3  
**_I've been stuck in this routine_

Santana had found herself repeating her actions from that night almost every day of the week. She never stopped to think about it; never thought about the amount of times she raided the refrigerator and forced food into her aching body, only to end up leaning over the sink or toilet, fingers at the back of her throat and vomiting violently. Only the slight burn that remained reminded her of what she was doing.

She had also visited some sites online. One told her that drinking water when you feel hungry would fill you up, so she tried it out. One night, returning home from school and watching her mother close the office door, she headed for the kitchen. This wasn't going to be like the night before, she decided, when the rumbling in her stomach began, when the hunger pains were evident. She took a glass from the cupboard, filling it with water, and drank it just as quickly.

It worked, to a degree. She did feel full, but not for long. She continued to drink. Every time the thought of food came into her mind, she would fill her glass and gulp it down desperately. A sense of unrivalled achievement settled over her that night as she lay in her bed; the realisation that she had managed to not eat a solid meal, not since the slice of toast that her mother had made her eat that morning, filling her mind. She smiled at her self-control, pride radiating from her fragile body as she slowly drifted off to sleep.

* * *

The next day was Friday, and Santana hopped out of bed when her alarm went off the next morning. It had been a week today, she remembered, that she began to use her mothers scales in the bathroom. She had weighed herself every night, usually two or three times, bar last night. She knew it was going to be good. She knew that she had done everything right, that she had used the tips from the website. The water thing had worked the day before, and would probably work again today, she noted.

She entered the bathroom, locking the door behind herself, and walked to the scales. She stripped down, taking off every item of clothing and possible weight addition, before stepping on with a deep breath.

Two and a half pounds.

Her heart sunk as she looked at her new weight. She was sure that it would be less, was sure that she had done enough for it to be so much less. She continued to stare at the numbers, willing them to change, but they didn't. Her jaw clenched as she stepped off, staring at the numbers as they slowly plummeted down to naught, before vanishing completely. Two and a half pounds. She hadn't done enough, she had done something wrong. She was still fat, and Quinn was still right. Her hopes were high, they were _so_ high, and they had all just been destroyed by three simple digits on a screen.

She glanced down at her body, seeing her stomach sticking out. She sucked it in, but she could still see it. She hated it. She hated that it wouldn't go, that she couldn't get it to just go away. She glanced to the side, being met by the large mirror that almost covered the wall beside the bath tub. She saw her stomach, she saw it taunting her in the reflection, proof of her failure. She pushed it in with her hands, pushed it as far as she could. Her ideal, she thought, before removing her hands and facing the eyesore again.

* * *

"Honey, have some toast," her mother called from the kitchen.

Santana glanced into the room, surprised to see her mother with both hands occupied and full concentration on cooking, not one flipping through notes or browsing on her phone. Her father wasn't there, though. She didn't even know why she bothered looking for him any more. "I'm okay," she excused, "I got up early, I had a banana."

Her mother accepted her lie, nodding with a smile. "Enjoy your day," she offered as Santana headed for the door. She paused for a moment, a small grin on her face. She doesn't remember the last time that her mom had said something like that, had wished for her to have a good day or took an interest in events once she got home. She continued, sending the woman a quick 'thanks' before letting herself out of the house.

She had planned to walk into school that morning that little bit more confident, to not have her hair draped at the side of her face as she stared at the ground. That's what she had planned, before she had stepped onto the scales. She wanted new confidence, people to notice the change in her. No one did, and again the insults were thrown her way as she walked into the room and found her desk. She pulled her glasses from their case. She hated this part, placing them on her face and being ridiculed for it almost instantly. Today was no different. Her mothers claims of 'you're kids, it will die down in a day or two' were horribly inaccurate.

"All you need now are braces, Ugly Betty."

That one was new. The new ones always hurt the most, she found. Eventually she got used to the other names; 'Satan' being there from the beginning, but the new ones found more ways of cutting into her. She felt like she was hurting in every way possible, the amount of names that she heard every day. She could tell that this one was from Quinn, from both the voice and the overreaction from everyone else in the room.

She was quickly up and out of her seat again, this morning's disappointment and the reminder from Quinn still haunting her mind, and was scuttling quickly towards the door. She knew this time, when her legs carried her without any conscious instruction, where she was heading. She would have made it, too, if she hadn't felt a hand grab her forearm and force her to stop. If she had the strength then she would have jolted from her grip before confronting her, but instead she just slumped, defeated, before turning around. It was Brittany, the girl from last week. They hadn't even spoken since the incident; Santana had been sure that the blonde would prefer it that way, to not be associated with her. Even when Brittany sent her a quick smile, Santana had glanced around and noticed Quinn's eyes wandering, so she refused to return the gesture. It would make things easier, for both Brittany and her conscience. If she was going down, she would do it alone. And she was going further down than anyone ever deserved to go. "What?" she asked, trying to sound snappy but failing in her attempts. The fact that Brittany was the first person to ever_ run_ after her was not lost on the shorter girl, who was finding it impossible to be anything but weak as she found the strangely stern blue eyes of the girl stood before her.

"Why did you run away?" she asked, her voice still so calm. Her facial expression betrayed her tone, however, as a frown now lay heavily on her lips. She still had her hand on Santana's arm, refusing to let her run away from this too. She always seemed to just run away.

"It doesn't matter, just let me go please," she said in little more than a sigh, pulling her arm to try to release it from Brittany's grasp. She couldn't. The blonde girl was surprisingly strong, she noticed.

"Go where? Your stuff is still in the classroom..." she pointed out, confusion on her face. "If you're going to skip class, then you should probably take your things with you."

Santana looked down, thinking as hard as she could for an answer. She knew where she was going, what she was going for; even if, at the time, her legs hadn't been as kind as to inform her brain. "I just needed to get out of there. She had started again..."

"She does it every day," Brittany pointed out, as if Santana needed to be kicked while she was down.

The smaller girl sighed, rolling her eyes. "I know," she replied simply, this time a very slight bite to her words. The other girl didn't seem to notice.

"And yesterday, when she called your mom a border hopper, you didn't run away..." she trailed off, a look of confusion slowly evident on her face. "I don't even know what one of those is...it sounds fun."

"No, I just sat there and felt like crap," she retorted, ignoring the almost muted mumblings that followed the real point that the girl was making. That was what she had done for so long now; sat and took the insults, pretending to not be bothered by them. She was sick of it. Getting away felt much better. "Why would I want to sit in there while she said things like that?"

"Because when you go, she laughs and says even meaner things about you. People tell her how great she is because she got you to run away." Santana looked away again, towards the ground. She glanced at her arm on the way past, realising that Brittany's grip hadn't loosened in the slightest. She felt a strange sense of comfort. "She thinks that she is better than you when you do that."

Santana scoffed bitterly. "She_ is_ better than me," she said softly, defeated. She kept her eyes on her feet, even through the moments of silence that followed. She felt the blonde's hand on her arm tighten every so slightly, swallowing the lump in her throat.

"No she's not."

It was so simple. It was three words; three words that Brittany had probably said without thinking, three words she had likely said to many people many times. It was so small, yet it made Santana's eyes instantly snap back to Brittany's, looking for some signs of a joke. Something to tell her that Brittany didn't mean it. All she found was sincerity, even a slight upwards turn at the corner of the girl's lips. It made her chest suddenly feel frantic, a warmth within her that she doesn't remember feeling in years. She had always felt so cold, so empty, but now she felt like this meant something, that she meant something. She felt real. She couldn't help the doubt, though, and it flowed over her just as quickly as her previous emotions, causing her head to fall again. "You don't have to lie to me," she spoke almost silently. "You can go and sit with them and stuff, I mean...I would get it."

The hand on her arm slowly loosened, soon removed completely as Santana watched the small white marks gradually turn back to her natural tanned skin colour. She lifted her gaze again, daring a glance at Brittany, who was looking at her through confounded eyes. "Why would I do that?" she asked, sounding genuinely confused.

Santana smiled sadly. "The things they say to me...they will say them to you too," she replied hesitantly, slow in her words. She figured that Brittany deserved to be told before anything resembling a friendship could be built between them. That's what had scared all of her other friends off, knowing that befriending her would be give them Quinn Fabray as an enemy. From past experience, Santana couldn't really blame them. She was sure she would have done the same. "She picks on anyone that even talks to me."

"I don't care," the all too immediate answer came. Santana's self-pitying smile faltered, falling into a confused half-frown. "At least you wouldn't be alone any more."

This girl, this girl that Santana hardly knew, had managed to twice achieve a genuine smile from her in almost less than a minute. She had managed to make her heart feel like it was beating for a reason, made the thoughts of visiting the bathroom to make herself feel better only a dull temptation at the back of her mind. She had said things that no one had said to Santana in what felt like a lifetime. "Thank you," she offered, knowing just how inadequate those two words sounded. She was sure that Brittany had no idea just how much it meant to her; to want to be her friend, to want her to not be alone. It was the only thing she had been praying for every night for the past year. It was as if God had _finally_ sent her. She smiled at the thought.

"So you'll come back?" Brittany smiled hopefully, almost bouncing on her feet.

Santana couldn't help but giggle lightly at the almost instant change in the girl's demeanour. She had gone from serious, to confused, and now to positively glowing. She seemed unable to just have a little of one emotion, the smaller girl noted, and she really quite liked that. She nodded slowly, still weary of walking back into the hostile environment that she had left behind. "...sure," she offered with a half-hearted smile, biting her lip nervously.

Brittany's hand quickly moved to Santana's, holding it tightly for a moment and squeezing reassuringly. The gesture was over before Santana even realised it was happening, but the warm feeling on her hand remained, the biting of her lip stopping as a small part of her nervousness melted away. "Come on," the blonde offered as she slowly began to walk back in the direction of their room. "We can't be late again."

Santana nodded, smiling, before she hesitantly followed behind her.

That was the best night that Santana had in almost two weeks. Sure, she still didn't eat as much as her body was clearly demanding her to, but she ate. She ate a sandwich that she prepared for herself, and though the urge was there, she didn't make her way to the sink to rid it from her body. She quickly put her plate on the counter and exited the room, closing the door behind her, trying to block out the thought of what she could do.

And it had worked. As she sat watching the TV, having just eaten her admittedly small dinner, Quinn's voice was soon keeping her company. But for once, it seemed like she had a much nicer voice there fighting it away. She had a friendly voice, a voice that was new and comforting; she had Brittany's voice. Every time she thought about how fat she felt, how fat Quinn had told her she was, she would instantly feel the need. The urge to silence the voices in the only way she knew how. But then she remembered the worried blue eyes that had prevented her from doing just that earlier, she remembered the taller girl telling her that she didn't want her to be alone, offering her friendship in spite of what it meant for her future at the school.

She remembered all of those things, and her other thoughts seemed to melt away. She had found someone who didn't care about her popularity, about her weight, about Quinn.

"Hey," Brittany smiled as she approached her in the hallway the next morning.

Santana looked up, surprised, and quickly returned the gesture. The taller girl had already begun walking alongside her as they headed for the room, her backpack over her shoulder as she looked down at Santana. "Hi," she offered, looking ahead of them again, this time her gaze not falling to the ground. "You're usually in class before I get there," she thought out loud.

Brittany shrugged, also looking along the hallway in front of them. "I figured you might want someone to walk with," she replied. Santana again felt an inevitable smile on her lips, a strange warmth coming over her for the second day in a row. "You always show up on your own. And I was going to ask Mrs Powell if I could sit at the desk next to you, it's been free since I got here."

"They transferred," Santana confirmed with a smile, loving the idea.

They entered the room together, and Santana noticed the decrease in volume when it came to the insults thrown at her. In fact, she realised, there wasn't all that many of them either. She waited by Mrs Powell's desk while Brittany requested to the woman that she be moved, daring a look to the back of the room, seeing Quinn watching her through confused eyes. The rest of the class didn't seem too interested, a few only acting it for Quinn's sake.

Mrs Powell was nodding at Brittany when Santana looked back at the two, and she couldn't help her smile. She was saying yes; she would finally have somebody to sit next to now, someone who would sit there and actually acknowledge her existence. Mrs Powell stood from her desk, as Brittany took a few steps back, and walked towards Santana. "I think this is a brilliant idea," she offered with a grin. She placed a hand on Brittany's shoulder, nodding once with approval. "It will be good for you to have somebody in your corner, Santana."

She wasn't sure what the teacher meant by that, but she smiled anyway. Brittany was soon placing her things down on the desk next to Santana's, grinning from ear to ear as the other girl sat at her own seat with much the same expression. She hadn't actually seen Santana smile that that, she was sure. Not so big and bright, anyway. She didn't know that Santana_ could _smile like that, it was a very nice smile.

There was a scoff, a very loud and intentional scoff, from the back of the room, and Brittany's attention turned to the source. She noticed that Santana's face had instantly fell, and now a confused half-frown settled on her own lips. "You_ seriously_ don't want to do that," Quinn stated simply, an eyebrow raised.

Brittany stood straighter, placing her backpack underneath the desk. "Do what?" she questioned, unsure as to what she had meant. Did she put her English and History papers in the same pile again? She did not want another repeat of the 'Shakespeare was the Nazi leader' mess from her last school ever again, if she could help it. She glanced down at her papers, eyebrows furrowing when she realised that she hadn't mixed anything up.

"Sit with that freak," Quinn quickly replied, jabbing a finger in a shrunken Santana's direction.

Brittany followed her line of focus, her own eyes settling on the girl. Santana was smiling before; like, really smiling. Now, however, she was slouched again, her hair falling on either side of her face, a frown still evident through the dark strands. The blonde's brows furrowed. "Santana?" she questioned, receiving no reply. She didn't even care about Quinn any more, not when the smile that she had _finally_ gotten to see was now gone. Completely gone. Little did she know one was the cause of the other. "What's wrong?" she continued softly.

Quinn laughed. "Have you not been here for the past few weeks?" she bit back sharply, Brittany's focus hesitantly moving from Santana to the other girl. "That's what she does. She knows her place, and I know mine. _Everyone_ knows mine. Yours isn't decided yet..." she trailed off, anger turning to arrogance. "...I can make you or I can break you. Your choice."

Brittany didn't understand that phrase, but she had heard it before. On TV, she thought. She had asked her mother about it, leading the woman to an hour of explanation. The younger girl had nodded and pretended that she understood, but she didn't. Not really. _'They're saying that they can make people like you or hate you, honey'_. She remembered the words, staring into space as she mulled them over for a moment. "I don't want to be broken," she replied honestly, and she didn't. Broken things were never good things.

Quinn nodded, smirking. "Then you know what to do," she replied, an eyebrow raised expectantly.

Brittany, after a moment of silence, shook her head defiantly. _'They can make people like you or hate you'. _The words repeated in her mind. The only person, since she got here, that she has even wanted to be friends with was Santana. She loved being liked, and had never known anything any different. Everyone always smiled around her, even Santana had finally broken into a grin. Quinn wasn't a nice person, that much was evident. She didn't smile when Brittany was around; the only time she ever exposed her strikingly white teeth was when she had said something offensive, something hurtful, and had a proud smirk on her lips. She wasn't a nice person. Brittany didn't want to be friends with someone like that. She shook her head again. "If you like me, then Santana will hate me. I don't want her to hate me..."

Santana raised her gaze a little, complete shock evident within every inch of her face. This was the part where Brittany was supposed to leave her, realise what she was getting herself into and run as fast as she could in the opposite direction. Then why, Santana wondered, was she still stood beside her new desk of choice, simply staring back at a now infuriated Quinn Fabray.

"Are you_ kidding _me?" Quinn practically spat, both eyebrows almost jumping from her forehead. "I'm giving you a chance here, new girl. You choose that loser and I make your life hell, or you choose to stay away from her and we get along just fine."

Santana's head bowed again. Worded that way, what person in their right mind would ever choose her? If she could turn back time, she would give anything to still be on Quinn's good side, to not go to sleep every night hating herself because of something that the blonde had said earlier that day. If there was something she could do to change her life right now, she would do it in a heartbeat, without hesitation. Anyone would do the same.

"I choose Santana."

A few gasps filled the room, a disbelieving scoff sounding from Quinn's furious lips. "You have no idea what you have just done," she hissed in an almost whisper as she saw Mrs Powell rising from her seat, moving around her desk to inspect the scene. She offered the woman a fake smile, narrowing her gaze when her eyes fell momentarily back to Brittany's, before turning on her heel and taking her seat.

Brittany watched her go, herself turning around and taking her own seat only seconds later. She straightened out her papers a little, kicked her bag further under her desk, and finally glanced in Santana's direction. The girl was staring, literally staring, with a mouth that hung slightly agape and knitted brows that caused her forehead to crinkle with confusion. "What's wrong?" Brittany asked, mirroring the puzzled look.

"Why did you do that?" Santana asked in little more than a breath, staring incredulously.

Brittany simply shrugged. "I want to be your friend," she replied quietly, Mrs Powell beginning her lesson at the front of her class. She lowered her voice even more as she leaned towards Santana, smiling a small, reassuring smile. "She said she could make me or break me," she began to explain as the woman at the front of the class turned to her board. "I think you're already broken..." Santana's eyes downcast at the words. She had spoken to her only twice, how obvious must she be? No one else seemed to notice, and yet this girl comes out of nowhere, and after little more than a week is saying everything that she has never had the guts to say herself. She was broken, probably far more broken than Brittany really know. "I think you're broken, and I want to fix you," she finished simply, her voice innocent and soft.

Santana's eyes found hers again, found her face and the smile on her lips, sincerity radiating from every inch of her body. Everything about Brittany's expression made Santana's heart thud fast, _so _fast. She felt warm, almost tingly. No one had ever tried, not even her own mother or father had taken enough notice to want to help, to want to 'fix her'. Nobody had. Except Brittany. She let a small smile creep onto her own lips, having to physically prevent the tears that she could feel burning in her eyes from falling.

She felt like she had been waiting for Brittany forever.

* * *

**A/N: Replies to some reviews...**

**naaaaaaah: **NAOMILY! They shall never be forgotten...anyway, thanks for the long review! And this fic will have eventual Brittana, yes, so we will see how the people around them react to that and how it effects Santana (Brittany too, of course, but Santana's the one with the real problems here). Also, the fact that you love this story already is amazing! I hope I don't disappoint with this or future chapters.

**karlymorrig: **Writing this was actually hard because all I wanted to do was get Brittany to instantly make her better, simply because Santana being all broken is kinda the saddest thing ever...haha. But there would be no story if it happened that quickly, so on with the torture we must go. Thanks for the review! :)

**miknge: **Yeah, Quinn's a bitch. We will sorta see a few different sides to her in future chapters. The whole Santana/Quinn dynamic will be a confusing one. Thanks for the review :)

**88BonnieBlue8: **Thank you :) I'm happy that you said that, because that is one of the biggest things I worry about when I write this. Glad you're liking the story!

**Insuferable-know-it-all15: **Capturing Brittany's horribly-yet-wonderfully unpredictable character is something that I will never claim to be able to do, but I'm glad that I'm somewhere in the ball park! Thank you for reading and reviewing :)


	4. Chapter Four

**Title: **Beautiful Today  
**Pairing: **Brittany/Santana  
**Summary: **'She hates what she sees. She hates it all, because Quinn told her to.' Santana needs saving, but no one seems to notice. Brittana.

**Spoilers: **None.  
**Warnings: **Deals with self harm and eating disorders throughout.

**Authors Note: **I've been ill, along with the entire population of the crappy little town that I live in. I have been ill, and I have had deadlines, and my past two weeks have been AWFUL. So, I apologise for the horribly slow update. I will try to get my act together! A two week Christmas break from college should help :)  
I am tired, and I have work in the morning, so I needed to finish this and put it out. If there's any errors, feel free to criticize :)  
Thank you for the reviews! I love them. A lot. Like, more than you know.  
So yeah, thanks for reading, and I hope this chapter is decent enough after such a long wait. I will try be faster!

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**Contains self-harm and eating disorders. If either of these things are a trigger to you, please think before reading on.**

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**CHAPTER 4  
**_I don't wanna be afraid_

Santana was sure, throughout almost all of the week that followed, that Brittany would realise her mistake. She was waiting for her to come into class one day, make her quick apologies, and then run to the back of the room next to the girl that she had turned her back on just seven days ago. They had even come up with names for Brittany, albeit terribly thought-out ones. Once it was revealed during registration that Brittany's full name was 'Brittany S. Piers', the taunting only got worse.

"I think it's really cool," Santana reassured her as they walked down the hallway, making their way to their next class.

Brittany smiled sadly. "I always thought it was too..." she trailed off, eyes downcast. Santana had never seen this before, Brittany sad, and the fact that she was the cause made her heart hurt. It hurt really bad. "No one used to make fun of it."

Santana watched her for a moment before coming to a stop, Brittany walked only a few more steps before realising that the smaller girl was no longer beside her. The blonde turned, confused, and wordlessly asked her why they were no longer moving. "It's because of me, you know that?"

Brittany's brows knitted together as she stood a little straighter, no longer slumped. "What?"

"If you weren't friends with me, then Quinn wouldn't be calling you names. Everyone would think that your name was cool, and you would be popular, and happy..." she spoke, almost in one desperate breath, before allowing her head to drop.

It had been a week. A good week. A week in which she hadn't found her quivering fingers reaching for the back of her throat. Even on the weekend; on the Saturday that her babysitter had baked cookies and she had eaten more than enough. On the Saturday that she found herself in front of the mirror, grimacing as she took in what she saw. Even when she entered the bathroom and locked the door behind her, getting to her knees, she heard Brittany's voice. _'You should smile all the time. I __like it when you smile.' _It was the simplest of things, a quick comment that was said almost thoughtlessly, but it had saved her that night. She allowed her fingers to gravitate away from her lips, standing with shaky legs and getting out of the room as quickly as she possibly could. This week had been the best week that she could remember, definitely the best week of the last two years of her life. She had her time, she would let Brittany go.

"I _am_ happy," Brittany almost laughed, taking a few short steps until she was closer to the girl. "What made you think I was sad?"

Santana was confused. Very confused. "They call you names..." she stated simply, trailing off and waiting for the realisation to appear on Brittany's face.

It did, though it took longer than anticipated. "That doesn't matter," she smiled almost sadly, sincere in her action. "They do it to you too."

Santana nodded, though the fact that it wasn't really any kind of explanation was not lost on her. Why did Brittany seem to unaffected by the name-calling? Sure, she had seen a hurt look on Brittany's face after an insult had been directed at her, but she saw the same look on the girl's face when they aimed a name at Santana, too. She didn't seem as down as Santana, as defeated. If Brittany could be so strong, why couldn't she?

"Besides," Brittany began, interrupting her thoughts. "My mom always said...something about stones and sticks..." she trailed off, deep in thought.

Santana would have laughed, but instead she nodded sadly. That was why. Brittany could leave the hostile environment of the school and enter a house, a home, that belonged to her adoring mother and doting father. She would be asked about her day, play in the back yard with her brothers or sisters, sit around the_ family_ table for a _family_ meal with every member of her _family_ present. She had a family, Santana didn't. Not any more. "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me," she offered with a small smile.

Brittany perked up, nodding enthusiastically. "She used to say it to me every night," she giggled, still a surprisingly large grin on her face. "My mom is awesome, you should meet her."

Santana had thought, even from Brittany's brief nuggets of information about the woman, that she did indeed seem awesome. She even felt her face unwittingly light up from the simple invite. "I would like that..." she had said almost without thinking.

Brittany's smile grew even further. "Really?" she almost shouted with excitement, "she keeps saying that she wants to when I talk to her about you."

Santana's smile faltered. "You talk to her about me?"

"Of course!" Brittany grinned. "She asks every day since we moved if I have made any new friends, so I told her."

Santana nodded, the smile on her lips now feeling much less convincing. It worried her, if she was honest, what Brittany was telling her mother. She didn't want the blonde to be telling her mom how great she was, because when the actual meeting happened, her expectations would be way to high. She was more than curious as to what Brittany said about her when she wasn't there.

"I'm going to ask my mom. This is going to be so awesome!" Brittany literally jumped with excitement, pulling Santana into a quick hug, before practically skipping towards their room.

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A car slowly pulled up in front of Santana as she stood on the side walk, the window opening seconds later. Brittany smiled before leaning back a little, allowing her mother to lean forwards, "Santana," she smiled. The short latina girl examined the woman for a moment. Her resemblance to Brittany was instantly apparent, her hair a light blonde and eyes sea blue. She had the same flawlessly pale skin, and her face seemed friendly enough to rival her daughters. "I can finally put a face to the name," she added in a soft, humoured tone. Santana smiled. "Do you need a ride?"

The girl shook her head. "My mom should be here soon," she replied, offering a thankful smile regardless.

The older woman nodded. "Okay, well Brittany here tells me that we need to be properly introduced, so how about you come to our house after school tomorrow and stay for dinner?"

Santana's eyes lit up, her smile growing in sincerity. "I'll ask my mom," she nodded, catching the sight of an excited Brittany from the corner of her eye. "Thanks."

"No problem" Mrs Pierce replied, nodding once as she leaned back a little. "It was lovely talking to you, Santana."

She had soon moved further into the car, allowing her daughter to sit forwards again and catch the full attention of Santana's eyes. "I can't wait!" she bellowed out of the window, her hands clapping excitedly. Santana chuckled as the window slowly closed again, the car driving off only seconds later.

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Santana found herself lying on Brittany's bed the next day, after school, with the blonde lying beside her. They had been at Brittany's house for just under an hour now, and had spent the first part of their time in the back yard, playing with the Pierce's dog. They had a big dog, though Santana had already forgotten the name. It was golden, though, and she was sure that it smiled at her every time she stroked behind his ear. Buster was his name, and with his friendly grin and golden blonde hair, he fit right into the family home.

"Santana," Brittany's voice came, bringing her from her thoughts. She felt the taller girl shift beside her, catching her in the corner of her eye as she sat up. The latina nodded, silently willing her to continue. "...do you ever tell your mom about me?"

Santana simply watched the other girl for a moment before sighing lightly, pushing herself up with her hands. Brittany shifted, giving Santana room, and crossed her legs. "Brittany..." she began, getting herself into the same position opposite the girl. "I don't really...tell my mom things."

Brittany's brows furrowed. "You don't?"

Santana shook her head in reply, not wanting to explain further, and let her eyes fall.

"How come?" the blonde pressed.

Santana closed her eyes tightly for a second, taking a breath before playing lazily with the sheet that lay on the bed. "We don't talk a lot. She's usually not around when I am, so I don't get the chance to tell her things."

"Why?" Brittany asked, not moving a muscle in fear of halting Santana's speech. She watched the girl as she sat before her, legs crossed and hands laying on her lap. Her eyes were fixated on the bed below, refusing to meet Brittany's.

"I just..." she began, pausing and taking a breath. "My mom and dad work a lot, I'm usually on my own."

Brittany flinched, but managed to keep her hand from instinctively jolting across and taking Santana's. She forced her own fingers to entwine together, before allowing herself a silent moment of thought. "What about dinner...who makes your dinner?" There was silence for a moment, before a gasp escaped the blonde's mouth. "Who do you eat with?"

Santana's heart raced. This was the first time she had ever spoken to someone like this, about this, about feeling lonely. No one else knew that her mother and father didn't have time for her, that she spent her evenings in the company of whatever decided to occupy her screen that night. That was enough to elevate her heart-rate, to make her stomach lurch slightly, but at the mention of dinner she physically flinched. She caught Brittany's eye for a split second with what she was sure were her own wide eyes. She was sure that the blonde knew something, that she was hinting. It took her a second to steady herself, however, and for her thoughts to rationalise. She couldn't breach that subject. Not yet...not ever. "I just...make something quick," she offered, "or mom has time sometimes. I usually eat on my own."

Brittany took a moment before nodding in acceptance, looking away from Santana and focusing on her lap. It all seemed really sad, she thought, to have to do everything alone. They were only fourteen, and everyone needs their parents when they're fourteen. Brittany couldn't imagine not having her parents around all the time, even those times that she really wished they weren't. "That's not right," she finally voiced, "I don't think you should do that."

Santana laughed bitterly. "I don't really have a choice..."

"Talk to your mom," Brittany replied almost instantly, persistent in her quest. She didn't want it to be like that. Santana had enough trouble at school, she should be able to go home and hug her mom, tell her about it all. That's what Brittany did, after all. The older Pierce's had never had to deal with their daughter being picked on before, so when she came home and sat between them on the couch one day, burying her face into her father's neck, they were surprised. She explained why she was in such a bad mood, and they became instantly defensive. 'Tell me her name!' her mother had exclaimed. They had never known anyone to not take to Brittany before, and they were not about to allow it here. 'It's okay,' Brittany had assured them sadly, both of their arms wrapped around her protectively. 'It's okay, because Santana's not alone any more'.

"I can't," she almost whispered, her eyes still downcast. "It's her job, she needs to work. It helps her...with the trouble with dad. I think it helps her to forget."

Brittany's brows knitted together, her hands becoming still. "Trouble with your dad?"

Santana, after realising that she had let that slip, simply nodded. "I think they're only together because of me...if it wasn't for me, they would be happy."

Brittany didn't stop her hand this time when she felt it jolting from her grasp, allowing it to slowly find Santana's, resting lightly on top. The latina tensed for a moment, eventually calming and allowing Brittany to relax her hand. The weight of the hand made her already rapid heart beat weird again, she noticed, but somehow it felt a lot better. "I wish I could make it okay..." Brittany offered, sad that she couldn't do more. If she could move into the Lopez household and keep Santana company every night, she would. Without a doubt. But at fourteen, that didn't really seem like a plausible plan.

"You do," Santana offered eventually, her voice little more than a whisper as she finally lifted her gaze, her eyes finding Brittany's. She allowed her lips to curl into a small smile, Brittany doing the same in reply, before glancing at their hands. She shifted her own a little, making sure to be slow with her movements, not wanting Brittany to retreat. She managed to turn her hand so that they were palm-to-palm, smiling at the new tingling of her hand as Brittany allowed one of her fingers to gently stroke Santana's. "I wish you had always been here," she mused as she continued to watch the movements.

Brittany smiled further, nodding as she did the same. "Me too..." She moved her fingers to the end of Santana's, pausing for a second before taking them carefully into hers. Sitting opposite didn't make it the most comfortable holding of hands, but Santana's thumb rubbing softly on her ring finger helped. "Do you know what it was that I wanted to do more than anything after my first day of school here?"

Santana laughed lightly, looking up and watching Brittany's thoughtful face. She shook her head. "What?"

"I wanted to make you smile," the blonde girl admitted, meeting the brown eyes that were watching her. She smiled at the slightly bewildered look on Santana's face, allowing a breathy giggle to escape her lips. Santana's unsure expression soon became a small grin of her own.

"You work quickly," Santana quipped, squeezing Brittany's hand that lay in hers.

The blonde girl nodded with a chuckle. "I can't wait until you smile all the time," she added, before locking eyes with the girl again.

"Girls!" They heard a voice call, both of them turning to look at the door, awaiting the added information that they knew would follow. "Dinner's ready!"

Brittany smiled widely, getting to her feet, before pulling Santana up with their hands that never parted.

Santana felt herself instantly panic, her heart racing again in that painful way, the way she didn't like. "I-um," she stuttered, not allowing Brittany to pull her toward the door. "I'm not really very hungry."

Brittany came to a stop, rolling her eyes humorously. "You don't have to eat _everything_," she replied with a smile. "Mom always makes too much, so when you're full just say so. She won't mind."

Santana was still anxious. She was worried about this part, she had been worried about it all afternoon. The past few minutes with Brittany had made her forget, but now it was here, now she had to do it. There was no way she could hide the fact that she had eaten nothing from four other people sat around the table. There was also no way that she could force herself to eat it, not without the thing that always followed, the thing that made her feel better. She couldn't do that here. "You promise?" she asked eventually, voice vulnerable, sceptical.

Brittany grinned. "Pinky promise..." she took her hand out of Santana's, holding out her right pinky for the other girl to take. Santana examined it for a moment before allowing her left pinky to meet it, hooking with Brittany's. The taller girl pulled, urging Santana toward the door, and they walked to dinner with their pinkies entwined.

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"So Santana," Mr Pierce began as their plates were being lay neatly onto the table by his wife. "How long have you lived here?"

"Forever," she replied with a sad smile. Lima, Ohio could be described as many things, but desirable was not even on the spectrum. It was a crappy place to live. Sometimes, she thought that if she and her parents lived somewhere better, somewhere nice like on the TV, maybe they would all be happier. Leaving an awkward house to enter a dull, boring town could only add to the constantly low moods of her parents, she was sure. "My mom and dad got married when they were young, it was sort of only because their families were friends, and they were the only other Latin American family in Lima. My grandma wanted her to marry a Hispanic boy, so..." she shrugged, smiling a friendly smile in Mrs Pierce's direction as she took her seat.

Mr Pierce shifted uncomfortably, not sure what to make of the story. It didn't seem romantic, and certainty not the tale that parents would tell their children. "And will I know these parents of yours?" he asked, trying to push the conversation along. Brittany seemed oblivious, already digging into the spaghetti that lay before her.

"I doubt it," Santana smiled, taking her own fork and hovering over her food. "My dad's a doctor, my mom...I'm not really sure what my mom does. Something to do with legal stuff."

He glanced at his wife, again feeling uncomfortable, before nodding with a smile. This girl seemed very different to the other friends of Brittany that he had met; not necessarily a bad different, just...different. She didn't seem as sweet as the others, as eager to please. He also noticed that she seemed older, wiser even, in the way that she spoke. It was not the way that she presented herself, but the way that she viewed things; she didn't seem to have a sugar-coated view of the world. He didn't know what to think of it, so he simple stayed quiet.

"So, Santana, we've heard _so much_ about you," Brittany's mother chipped in, causing her daughter to pause the devouring of her meal and glare at her mother for a moment. "Brittany always gets excited when she makes new friends, but you must be rather special. I think I hear your name mentioned at least one hundred times a day."

Santana felt her cheeks burn, and as she shifted slightly she dropped her fork, it falling into the side of her plate and making a loud clanging sound. "Sorry," she muttered, picking it back up with a nervous laugh and wiping the table down. She didn't know why she suddenly felt so nervous; but sat in a room full of strangers, hearing that Brittany had told them about her, it made her palms sweaty.

"I didn't mean to embarrass you, sweetie," Mrs Pierce chuckled, taking a mouth full of spaghetti from her plate. She glanced over at Santana as she smiled back, nodding, before placing her fork on the table and rubbing her hands together slightly. She wasn't touching her food, the older woman noticed, and her eyebrows quickly furrowed. "Brittany told me that you like spaghetti..."

Santana looked up, quickly nodding. "I do," she assured with a small smile. "I'm just...I'm not all that hungry tonight."

Mrs Pierce shook her head. "Nonsense. Look at you, there's hardly anything of you!" she laughed, her husband doing the same. Suddenly, three sets of scrutinising eyes fell on her, all smiling and giggling along. Santana bowed her head, eager to rid herself of the attention. If she couldn't see it, it didn't sting as much. This was Brittany, this was Brittany's family, it was okay. They were okay. "I insist that you at least try," Mrs Pierce pressed on, "I can't have you going home without having fed you. What would your mother say?"

Nothing, Santana wanted to say. She wouldn't say anything, because she wouldn't know. She didn't even know when she didn't eat dinner at home, she never asked, she never noticed. She wouldn't say anything, because she wouldn't care. After a second, she faked a smile, picking up her fork and allowing it to fall into the food. She played with it for a moment, happy when the eyes that were once watching her focused on their own meals, and spun some onto her fork. It wasn't like she hadn't eaten for the past week, because she had, but that was little things like fruit. She hadn't eaten a proper meal like this since the first time _it _happened, and the fact that she was in a room full of people made her feel sick. That feeling in her stomach made her dizzy.

She forced the food to her mouth, even though it felt like every inch of her body was fighting against it, and quickly threw it in. Every bite made her feel even more sick, and she didn't even know why. She quickly placed the fork on the table, bowing her head so that her face was out of view as she grimaced, swallowing the food down.

"Santana, are you okay?" Brittany asked, her voice soft and full of worry.

The latina, after a moment, shook her head. She lifted her gaze, again finding the same amount of eyes burning into her. "I'm feeling a little sick..." she excused, taking the glass of water from the table and quickly chugging some down. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise," the older woman replied, concern in her tone. She stood from the table, walking to Santana's side and placing her hand to her forehead. "You're sweating," she added, her face full of sympathy. "And you're shaking. What's wrong honey?"

"I don't know," Santana lied, hating this feeling, everyone watching her. She wanted to get out of the room, to get out of there, to get to the bathroom.

"Do you feel like you need to go to the bathroom...are you going to be sick?"

_YES._

"I..." she voiced shakily, almost inaudible.

"Brittany," Mrs Pierce began after a moment of silence. "Take Santana to the bathroom, make sure she's okay."

The younger blonde girl quickly got to her feet, worry evident within every inch of her face, as Santana rose almost as quickly and headed for the door. Her breathing was heavy, and her head was spinning. It was spinning so much that she almost fell off-balance on the stairs, Brittany quickly holding her around the waist and guiding her up safely.

Soon Santana was sat on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor, Brittany instantly rushing to her side after securing the lock on the door. She grabbed the latinas hand, squeezing it tightly. "You didn't tell me you were sick," she said, examining the face before her.

"I wasn't," was all Santana could manage, glancing to the right and seeing the inviting escape. She stared at it, probably for too long, because Brittany quickly caught her line of sight.

"Do you need to..."

Santana paused for a moment, simply staring at it. She couldn't, not with Brittany here, but this time she _actually_ felt sick. She felt like she needed to do it, like she wouldn't have to force it, use her fingers. "I-I don't...I don't know."

Brittany took this as a yes, kneeling up slightly and nudging Santana closer to the bowl, allowing the girl to simply sit beside it with her knees pulled to her chest. As they sat in silence, Santana felt her heart begin to slow, the frantic beating beginning to even out. Her stomach still screamed to be emptied, still caused that dull pain, the horrible sick feeling, but she no longer felt panicked. She wasn't shaking any more, she noticed, when she grabbed Brittany's hand that lay on her knee. She took the girl's hand into her own and held it tightly, probably much tighter than was comfortable for the other girl, and allowed her head to fall backwards and lie against the wall.

"...are you feeling okay?" Brittany asked after at least five minutes of silence. She allowed Santana to hold her hand as tightly as she needed, tracing the girl's skin with her thumb. She needed her to calm down, because even though she was trying not to show it, Brittany was terrified.

Santana managed a nod, opening her eyes only slightly, enough to meet Brittany's. She smiled, not a big smile, one that was almost unnoticeable even, but Brittany saw it. She saw that Santana was silently telling her it was okay, telling her that she would be okay.

She saw it and she knew that it was a lie.


	5. Chapter Five

**Title: **Beautiful Today  
**Pairing: **Brittany/Santana  
**Summary: **'She hates what she sees. She hates it all, because Quinn told her to.' Santana needs saving, but no one seems to notice. Brittana.

**Spoilers: **None.  
**Warnings: **Deals with self harm and eating disorders throughout.

**Authors Note:** Horribly, horribly slow update. I actually had half of this written the same night that I posted chapter four, but then life happened. I have a three day weekend, so I thought now would be a good time to get this up. College is taking over my life, but I will try to get better with the updates.

This one is kinda short, but I need to get something up here. Plus, it's kind of important to the rest of the story. I have future chapters planned, some half-written, so it's all starting to come together now. Hopefully that will help speed me up a little. Anyway, thank you to everyone for reading! And thank you twice to those that review :)

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**Contains self-harm and eating disorders. If either of these things are a trigger to you, please think before reading on.**

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**CHAPTER FIVE  
**_'I promise I won't drink from the carton.'_

"I'm sorry to have had to call you," Mrs Pierce apologised as she moved aside, allowing the slightly shorter woman enough room to enter. She smiled politely as she closed the door behind her, nodding towards the sitting room. "She said that she feels a little better now, but you know what it's like with kids" she laughed, trailing off when she realised that Santana's mother wasn't joining in. The woman simply offered a thin smile, walking in the direction that Mrs Pierce had pointed her hand. "Santana..." she voiced as she moved ahead, entering the room first, "your mom's here."

Santana smiled appreciatively, Brittany also looking up from her position next to her friend. She had her hand in Santana's again, and she had done since they were in the bathroom. She didn't want to let go, she wanted to make sure that she was okay. The only way to do that was to stay with her, all the time, no matter what. She frowned as she heard her mother introduce Santana's, knowing that she was about to be taken away. Brittany was usually the one that people felt the need to protect, and if the girl was honest, it felt good to have people care. She knew that she was needed here, however, and she felt compelled to her loyalty. She squeezed Santana's hand tightly as a short, latina woman entered the room.

"Hi honey," her mother smiled as her eyes met her daughters. The younger girl's eyes were apologetic and small, and Mrs Lopez quickly walked to her side, placing a soft hand on her cheek. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know," Santana lied, smiling at the feel of her mother touching her cheek, of her uncharacteristically soft voice.

"Her temperature shot up earlier," Mrs Pierce added as she herself moved towards the girls, "and she completely lost her appetite."

Mrs Lopez nodded, concern in her eyes, a concern that Santana hadn't seen in so long. She wanted to blurt it out then, right there; while she had her mother's attention, while it felt like the older woman cared. It seemed like such an easy option, to talk to her and explain why she felt so ill, explain what made her suddenly dizzy and unable to function. She looked into her mother's brown eyes, the eyes that were finally focused one hundred percent on her, and her mouth edged open.

That's when the sound of a cell phone filled the room.

The woman's hand quickly retreated from her daughter's face, reaching into her pocket to pull out the device. She examined the screen before glancing down at Santana, the focus no longer there. "It's work, sweetie," she excused simply before edging out of the room and back into the hallway.

Mrs Pierce was perplexed. The woman's daughter was ill, she had told her how she had suddenly become so unwell. She had told Mrs Lopez, yet the woman had still taken a call that she was sure could have waited. If this was Brittany, there was no way anything or anyone could stop her from making sure she was okay. Even that one time that she had taken Brittany to the hospital for a simple cold, she had felt like the shouting at from the receptionist was worth it. She had taken note, every time she had been ill afterwards, that her daughter had a tendency to over-exaggerated, but that never stopped her from doing everything she could.

She looked back in Santana's direction as the woman stepped out of the room, seeing her head drop and a sad, pitiful smile on her face. Mrs Pierce's brows furrowed. "I'm sure it was important, honey," she offered in words of comfort.

Santana shook her head, shrugging. "It's okay..."

It wasn't. It wasn't okay, Mrs Pierce decided, it was anything but okay. This child was fourteen, and all night she had heard tales of her mother and father that shocked both the older Pierce and her husband. Santana, though she tried to mask it, _was_ affected by the behaviour.

Before she could reply, Mrs Lopez rushed back into the room, quickly scrambling her cell into the bag that clung to her arm. "Santana, sweetie, I have to go to this last minute meeting. I'll call the sitter, make sure she's there for you when we get home," she explained, frantic in her actions and with eyes that were telling her daughter to hurry.

Before Mrs Pierce could object, point out how ridiculous that was, Santana was on her feet. Her shoulders were slumped, the frown growing further as she allowed Brittany's hand to finally fall from her own. She smiled a quick, sad smile down at the blonde, before taking a step in her mother's direction.

"No," Mrs Pierce finally offered, managing to somehow stutter with the one-syllable word. Santana quickly turned to face her, Mrs Lopez pausing in her stride. Mrs Pierce glanced quickly at Brittany, seeing a curious look in her daughter's eyes, before finding Santana's. She could see a glimmer of hope, almost desperation, and that was enough to spur her on. "If you have somewhere to be, then maybe it is best for Santana to stay. It's a Friday night, and she has a friend here."

Mrs Lopez thought for a moment, raising a brow as she took a step back into the room. One quick glance at her daughter confirmed her opinion on the matter; pleading eyes and her head nodding affirmatively. "It would be best for you to be with someone who can really look after you..." she voiced, still focused on her daughter.

Santana nodded again, smiling slightly. "Please?" she added as Brittany got to her feet, walking toward her mother with a thankful grin. Both the older and younger Pierce women had been surprised by Santana's mother, by how willing she was to simply leave her ill daughter for work.

Brittany knew that her mother would never, ever do that. She didn't want Santana to be left alone, and if she had her choice, she wouldn't let Santana leave until she was completely sure that she was okay. She looked so unwell in the bathroom, so upset, and the memory was imprinted in Brittany's mind. "I promise I will look after her," she offered, nodding frantically.

Santana glanced at her and smiled a small, friendly smile. She found herself chuckling at the excited - yet trying it's best not to be - look on the blonde's face. Subtlety clearly wasn't Brittany's strong point.

"If you're okay with that, honey..." Mrs Lopez interrupted, catching Santana's attention again.

Her smile lessened, but she nodded nevertheless.

"Okay then," her mother agreed, allowing a small smile to hint on her lips. She moved towards her daughter, placing a soft hand on her cheek again. "I'm sorry about this, mija. You know how busy I get..."

"It's okay," Santana lied, a sadness in her voice that her mother never seemed to notice. She clearly didn't this time, either, as she placed a quick kiss on Santana's forehead and pulled back with a grin.

"I will come by and pick you up first thing tomorrow morning. If you need anything, I have my cell. Make sure that you don't call my work number, I don't want it ringing during the meeting."

Mrs Pierce felt her mouth fall further agape. One moment, this woman seemed like a wonderful mother, caring and soft. Then the next, she said something terrible, something that didn't even seem to affect her daughter. When Mrs Pierce glanced at Brittany and saw that her eyebrows were furrowed uncomfortably, she felt relieved that she wasn't the only one that didn't understand what she was seeing. She wasn't deluded, she knew that sometimes parents weren't really fit to be given the title, but to see it first hand made her blood boil. She saw glimpses of a good mother, but then she saw the woman that put work before her child, and that just didn't sit right with her. She took a few small steps before reaching out and placing a hand on Santana's shoulder. "I'm sure we'll be fine," she said as calmly as possible, trying to mask the defensiveness that she felt in her own voice.

Mrs Lopez simply took one last look at the woman, smiled, and turned towards the door. Her steps became a light jog as she neared her exit. "Feel better, honey" she threw over her shoulder, opening the door and letting herself out seconds later.

Mrs Pierce quickly replaced the frown on her face with a smile, squeezing Santana's shoulder before the girl turned to look at her through defeated eyes. "So," she began in a lighter tone, "hot chocolates before bed?"

Brittany clapped excitedly, almost jumping on the spot at her mother's offer. "She makes the best hot chocolate!" she assured as her mother grinned and headed towards the kitchen. "She uses marshmallows and everything. How many do you want?"

Santana smiled at the blonde as she began to skip after her mother, following her much more calmly seconds later. "I'll just have the hot chocolate, please" she excused as she edged her way into the room, a smiling Brittany already at her mother's side. The resemblance was even more striking that before; not just in the way that they looked, but the way that their eyes would light up at something as simple as hot chocolate, the way that they both sent quick, small smiles in Santana's direction to make sure that she didn't feel left out. There was a warmth within this place, these people, that she doesn't remember ever feeling before. If it was possible on the first visit, the Pierce household felt even more like home than her own. "Thank you," she said without thinking, a smile that she hadn't even noticed sitting on her lips.

Mrs Pierce looked up, away from the mugs, and two sets of kind blue eyes fell on the latina. "You are always welcome here, Santana," she grinned. "Any friend of Brittany's is more than okay with us."

Santana's smile grew as she nodded, looking down at the ground as the heat in her cheeks rose. She was blushing, and she wasn't even sure why. She just felt so accepted, so...liked, that it made her cheeks ache from the constant grin that clung to her face. She was definitely glad that she had agreed to meet this woman._ So_ glad. "I'll make sure I leave early tomorrow, Mrs Pierce. My mom should be awake early for work anyway."

"Nonsense!" she shot back instantly, shaking her head as she poured liquid into the cups before her. "It's a Saturday, there's no rush. Oh, and it's Emily. We'll have no more of that 'Mrs Pierce'."

"Sorry," Santana offered, eyes falling again.

Mrs Pierce frowned. "Don't be."

* * *

"You can have the right side," Brittany announced as she entered the room again, now dressed in her pink pyjamas and with a friendly smile on her lips.

Santana nodded, taking a step towards the bed. She didn't know what to do, she had never actually slept at someone else's house before, on someone else's bed. She had simply stood in the middle of the room, waiting for Brittany to return. "Do you always sleep on the left?" she asked, sitting upon the bed tentatively.

Brittany shook her head, turning on the TV that sat on her desk. "I always sleep on the right, so it's softer," she smiled, taking a few steps before turning off the light, the dark room lit only by the glow of the TV.

Santana smiled back, again her cheeks becoming quickly hot. She hoped that this would stop eventually, especially considering the nature of the blonde. She seemed to be genuine with her kind words, her smiles; and they never, ever failed to make Santana a little lost for words. Sometimes her heart would beat really fast too, like right now, and she would feel her entire body suddenly become warm. She wasn't sure if it was a good feeling or a bad one, as she sat and rubbed her sweaty palms together, but it was one that she hadn't felt before. It had to be good, she concluded, because there was still a smile on her lips. "Your mom lets you watch the TV at night?" Santana asked, surprised.

"It helps me to sleep," the other girl explained as she finally reached the bed, climbing on and sitting next to Santana. That weird heart thing happened again, the latina noticed. "She usually comes in to turn it off when she goes to bed." Receiving a nod from Santana, Brittany smiled. She pushed herself further onto the bed, onto the left side, and pulled the covers up. The mattress didn't feel the same; it felt harder, colder than her half.

Santana did the same once she saw the blonde move, making her way to sit beside the her, awkward in her movements while trying consciously not to be. She lifted up the comforter on her side, allowing her legs to slip underneath, and smiled at the slight smell of Brittany that escaped with the movement. The mattress was soft, much like the blonde had said, and she felt instantly comfortable. Her heart was still doing the stupid thing, though, but she managed to somehow focus elsewhere.

It didn't take long at all for the silence to be filled with the rhythmic breathing of the girl beside her, a sound that Santana wished she had tried to prevent. She was now lying alone, in a strange room, a strange house. She was alone with her thoughts, thoughts that weren't really there at all. She couldn't help but think about her mom, about how she was so quick to leave, cursing herself for still being surprised by it. She thought about Brittany's mom, about how she wished she was hers. She thought about Brittany. She smiled as she remembered the concerned look on Brittany's face when she had rushed to her side, but then a frown quickly crept into it's place when she realised why it had been present in the first place. That brought her back to her mom, her house.

She sighed, resigned to the fact that her thoughts were simply going around in repetitive, painful circles, and allowed her head to fall to the side. She watched Brittany's back as her shoulders moved gently with each breath. Her light blonde hair was draped across the pillow, much softer than Santana's and just as peaceful as the sleeping girl that bore it. The smile was back on her lips again, but she still knew that she wouldn't be able to sleep.

She pushed herself up slightly, almost in a sitting position, and sighed again. Her eyes were on the ceiling now, watching the dull darkness that illuminate every now and then with each change of scene from the television. Sleeping here was a bad idea, she concluded. Not only would she not sleep tonight, but she would have to spend breakfast with the Pierce's tomorrow. They ate together, at a table, like families did. Santana couldn't simply ignore the pains in her stomach and skip breakfast, because there would be someone there now. Someone there to call her out on it.

"Are you okay?"

The voice brought Santana quickly from her short-lived thoughts, and she glanced down at the source. Brittany was lying on her back, her body contorted as she tried to get a better look at Santana. Her eyes were squinting as she began to rub them, clearly trying her best to clear her vision and focus. Her voice was groggy, and again Santana felt herself involuntarily grinning. She simply nodded in reply, not wanting to keep the girl up.

"Why are you still awake?" she asked, groaning as she pushed herself further to the side, her eyes finally settling on Santana.

The smaller girl glanced behind Brittany, at the alarm clock on the bedside table, and was surprised to read the time. It had been over an hour since they had settled into bed. She hadn't realised just how lost in her own thoughts she must have been. She shrugged, finally acknowledging the question, and smiled thinly. "I couldn't sleep."

"You couldn't?" Brittany's confused voice replied as she allowed her arm to bend beneath her own head, acting as a pillow. "I gave you the comfy side..."

"It's not that," Santana chuckled, her smile becoming genuine. "I've never...done this before."

"...been to sleep?"

She laughed again, shaking her head. "No. I mean..." she trailed off, bowing her head coyly. It was embarrassing, the fact that she had never slept outside of her own house. Everyone had, especially by the time they were fourteen. There was slumber parties, sleep overs, family visits that went on just that little bit to long. Well, there should have been. Even when she did have friends, she would always avoid the sleepovers that weren't held at her house. Most of them were, so it wasn't a stretch to have 'other plans' every time the concept of staying at somebody else's house arose. She even managed to talk her way out of slumber parties held at Quinn's house. She didn't even know why, but she just never felt comfortable. "I've never slept at somebody else's house before," she finally admitted quietly, almost a whisper.

There was a moment of silence that followed her confession, and though she didn't look up, she was sure that Brittany's face was one of shock. She waited for the sound of biting laughter, but it never came. Instead, the silence just continued. "What about slumber parties?" the other girl finally asked.

"I've never been to one."

Silence settled again, though it didn't last long this time. "Wow..." the blonde voiced absently, rolling onto her back again. "But...what about birthdays? People always have slumber parties for their birthdays. I have one every year, ever since I was ten."

Santana didn't reply. She simply met Brittany's eyes for a brief second, shrugged, and again let her head fall. It didn't feel great, having Brittany point out the obvious. She knew that it was the done thing to have sleepovers for your birthday, she had overheard countless conversations during classes about them; seen invitations, tolerated the excited giggling. She even had her own, the same year that Quinn had decided that she didn't exist for anything other that constant berating. She had organised it, invited people that promised they would attend. They didn't, and she was left alone with her pitying mother and a room full of party food. She ate it all that night, and her mother – who had promised to take the night off work – had found herself again sat behind her desk. She never planned anything like that again.

"So," the blonde let out as she sat up, pulling her comforter further onto her body as she brought her knees up to her chest. She leaned back against the headboard behind her, turning to look at Santana seconds later. "...what should we do?"

Santana shrugged, still not looking up. Her hair was curtaining her face again, making her heart's rapid beating slow.

"We could talk...until you're tired."

She shrugged again, though after realising that the girl was trying, she managed a nod. She had bothered to wake herself up just to occupy the latina, and she wasn't going to act like she wasn't grateful. She forced a smile onto her lips as she lifted her gaze, her hair no longer concealingly her expression, and finally met Brittany's eyes.

"Awesome," the taller girl beamed, all traces of exhaustion seemingly gone from her face. "We could play twenty questions. My sister always plays twenty questions with me. The fun kind, not the boring kind. Do you know how to play?"

Santana shook her head. "I've never played it."

"It's really easy," Brittany replied quickly, turning slightly so her right shoulder was now against the headboard and her body was facing the other girl. "We just ask twenty questions about each other, and then answer them. My mom always said that it was a good way of finding out things about new people," she rambled, receiving a more genuine smile in her direction.

"What do we ask?"

"Anything." She seemed to grow in excitement now, as she moved herself to sit facing Santana completely, cross-legged beside the girl. "You want to go first?"

Santana shook her head, herself sitting up a little straighter in anticipation of the game. She knew that it should terrify her, to be playing this game with someone she barely knew, but this was Brittany. It didn't _feel_ like she barely knew her. And if she was honest, she wanted to know more about the blonde. This was a much easier way than just asking. Just asking was scary. "I can't think of anything."

"Okay," Brittany nodded, pausing to think for a moment. "Do you drink straight out of the milk carton?"

After a second of thinking the bizarre question through, Santana broke into a laugh. "What?"

"Do you?"

"Um...why?"

"It's one of the questions," Brittany explained with raised brows, as if it was something she was truly intrigued about. "You have to answer."

"Okay," Santana chuckled, shaking her head humorously. "Sometimes."

"That's gross," Brittany remarked, face full of disgust as her brows furrowed disapprovingly.

Santana scoffed, shaking her head. She couldn't help the smile that crept onto her lips. "No one else even drinks the milk."

"It doesn't matter," the blonde stated instantly. "When we're older, you're not drinking our milk out of the carton."

Santana's eyes widened at the words, and she suddenly forgot how to speak. She knew that it was wrong, and that anyone would call her silly for thinking so, but she always assumed that she would be alone when she was older. She had spent almost all of her life alone already, around people that were present yet extremely absent in all of the ways that mattered. She never even humoured the idea of living with anybody, of having a friend, of having someone that would want to spend their days with her. And here was Brittany, telling her that she not only wants them to be sharing milk when they're older, but that she wants to know Santana every day until then. She wanted them to grow up together, and that thought alone brought that feeling back into Santana's chest; to her fingertips, her stomach. Only this time, it was times about fifty.

"What?" Brittany asked, seeing the bewildered look on Santana's face.

Santana quickly blinked away her wide-eyed stare, swallowing hard and focusing on finding some words. Any words. "Um, nothing," she managed finally, shaking her head. She stared at the bed for a moment, thinking about the words, playing them over and over in her head. An inevitable smile replaced the confused half-frown instantly, and she slowly raised her gaze, finding the sincere yet confused blue of Brittany's. Growing up with Brittany suddenly seemed like the most amazing thing in the world. She thought then that maybe her heart racing, thudding; maybe it wasn't the bad, scary thing that it felt. Maybe it was a good thing. Maybe it was the best thing, in fact.

"I promise I won't drink from the carton."

* * *

**throwing-dynamite: **Thanks, that really means a lot. I worry about how Santana is portrayed, because of how she is on the show and how it's so different. That will come later, though, so we'll see her progression into that. That's when Quinn will feature most, too. Thanks again for the review :)

**fashionpoetry: **Wow! Thanks so much :) I'm really glad that you're enjoying it. Santana needs depth, maybe not to the extremities as I like to write, but depth nonetheless :P I hope she gets explored further throughout the rest of season two.

**AthousandTimesMore: **Wow, thank you so much for your comment :) I'm glad that it sounds realistic. Reading people's accounts and experiences has really helped, but incorporating Brittany into this is difficult, though incredibly satisfactory. I sort of like finally writing some small amount of happiness into Santana's life, even if the rest of it is so out of control. Thanks again for such an long review! I hope you stick with the story, and that I can keep you entertained.

**heyalove:** Thank you so much! :) I'm glad that you're liking it so far. Sorry about the slow wait for the review!

**leyton426: **As they grow closer, I think it would be difficult for Brittany to not notice something. Thanks for the review, and I'm glad you're liking the story so far! :)

**Miknge:** To be honest, I didn't fully understand how hard it was until I got looking online. It was actually quite daunting reading real stories and accounts, because I knew I would have to go pretty far with it. Thanks for the review, and I'm glad that you liked the hand-holding :) I tried to make it subtle and natural, while also being a big thing within the story. Thanks again!

**Quiroz:** Thank you! :) And that feeling of not knowing how to feel about the boob job prompted this whole thing, so I understand how you feel. Exploring insecurities is always interesting, especially when you're writing a character like Santana.

**ILH15: **Thanks for the long review! I am pretty sure that this will be a story that I stick with, even when I get writers block or really don't feel into it, I just really need to finish it...if that makes sense haha. It's something different that I haven't written about before, and there's so much depth that you can give Santana's character, and her and Birttany are also really sweet to write. I just need it to have some sort of ending, or I don't think I would forgive myself lol. I hope that everything with your dieting is better now, and it's crap that you had to go through that. I think I've decided already on the point in which the problem comes to a head, just got a long road to get there :) Thanks again! (and NOBODY with a brain could not love Brittany.)

**myuselessattemptisuseless:** Thank you! I'm slow with the reply, but I am feeling better now, thank you :) I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

**you don't know my name:** Thanks for the comment and the get well soon-ness :) I want to kick Santana's mother all the time while I write this. It's weird writing someone that you want to just like...wake up, if that makes sense. I don't want to write her as the villain, just the woman that is completely lost and doesn't really have any sort of perspective on her life anymore. She will be explored more as the story progresses, and hopefully people will sort of sympathise with her, even if she is a total bitch right now. Thanks again!

**Fionalovesparamore:** Thanks very much :) I'm glad that the pinky thing was a hit, I thought giving it a back-story would be cool.

**HappyShannon:** I'm glad that I've managed to write it in a way that makes you feel like that. Thanks so much for your review! :)


	6. Chapter Six

**Title: **Beautiful Today  
**Pairing: **Brittany/Santana  
**Summary: **'She hates what she sees. She hates it all, because Quinn told her to.' Santana needs saving, but no one seems to notice. Brittana.  
**  
Spoilers: **None.  
**Warnings: **Deals with self harm and eating disorders throughout.  
**Authors note: **I've been gone forever, so I'm just going to say sorry and that I hope you don't all hate me.  
I'd be surprised if anyone will still be reading this, but if you've stuck with it then thank you! I honestly really appreciate it. I'm going to try to get better with my updates, I promise.  
I'm not too sure about this one, and I do seem to just be constantly shitting on Santana, but it needs to get worse before it gets better.

Contains self-harm and eating disorders. If either of these things are a trigger for you, please think before reading on.

* * *

**CHAPTER SIX  
**_'You make me happy.'_

* * *

Santana was the first to fall asleep, Brittany making sure that her eyes weren't allowed to rest until she was sure that Santana's were doing the same. They had played twenty questions, it slowly becoming thirty questions, melding neatly into forty. Santana had learned about Brittany's sister and how she was the 'smart one', whereas Brittany was always praised by her parents for her creative mind. She had told Santana that she would always dance when she was younger, though when her mother encouraged her to take auditions, she quickly put a stop to it.

Santana decided that she would watch Brittany dance one day.

Brittany had asked if Santana had any siblings, receiving a shake of the head and a sad smile. That smile was the only one that Santana seemed to know. She had made sure to change the subject, sensing that Santana wasn't ready, nor really wanted, to talk about those things with Brittany. One day she would push, would make Santana open up. Today wasn't that day, they hadn't been friends long enough, no matter how much it felt otherwise.

She had awoken slightly, stretching a little before groggily manoeuvring herself to turn in the bed. Her left arm was numb, and she quickly shook it out, her right arm now taking the weight. She was facing Santana's side of the bed now, though her eyes were open only enough to see the blurred outline of her arm as it shook in the air. She let out a frustrated sigh, taking her other hand and trying anything she could to make the pins and needles go. She just wanted to sleep again.

Her movements were brought to a halt when she heard a sniffle from the other side of the bed. She stilled, her right hand holding her left arm in the air, and looked over. She forced her eyes open further, seeing that Santana was also lying on her left side. Her shoulders were shaking slightly, and her body looked rigid.

"Santana?" Brittany whispered, releasing her arm and propping herself up on her right elbow. "Are you awake?"

She received no reply, instead the girl beside her became stiffer, as if trying to stop the still obvious shaking of her shoulders. There was another sniffle, louder this time.

Brittany's brows furrowed as she leaned forwards slightly. "Santana?" she asked again, taking her formerly numb hand and tentatively placing it onto the girls shoulder.

Santana flinched, taking a sharp breath. "You shouldn't have made me stay here," she almost hissed, her voice harsh and puncturing. "Why did you make me stay?"

Brittany didn't remove her hand, despite the uncharacteristic behaviour of the girl lying beside her. Instead she squeezed gently. "What's happened?"

"Stop it," Santana replied, her voice breaking.

Brittany's concern grew at the sound, moving her body forwards, closer to the shorter girl. Santana's breath hitched, the muscles beneath Brittany's palm tensing even further as her shoulders shook harder. The blonde sat up further, now resting on her right hand and trying to peer over the girl's shoulder.

It was just as she saw Santana's pained face, her eyes forced tightly shut and her mouth in a tight line, that she felt it on her leg.

She looked down, taking her hand from the other girl and resting it on the comforter, pulling it away slowly to reveal a damp patch on the bed that spread around Santana's borrowed night shorts.

Brittany examined it for a moment, her eyes widening as she quickly moved back, pulling her leg away from the area. She heard Santana release a sob at the action, her shoulders now rising and falling rapidly as she began to cry. She was still trying to silence it, trying to make sure that Brittany couldn't hear, but she had already seen. She had already seen what Santana felt half an hour ago when she was pulled from her dream. She had already seen what Santana hadn't done since she was four years old, yet for some reason had done on that night. On her first night at her new friends house.

It was as if God didn't want her to have friends. The one that sticks around, allows her to visit her house, sleep in her bed, she does this to. If nothing scared her away before, she was sure that this would.

Brittany was silent for a moment, still just looking wide eyed at the darker area on her sheets. It had took her longer than most kids - until she was around seven years old, her mother had said – to stop wetting the bed. She didn't know that people still did that, not at fourteen. When she turned her attention back to Santana, however, Brittany sensed that she didn't know that either.

She watched her new friend for a few seconds more before she pulled herself from the bed, pausing yet again to take in the scene before her as she began to walk around the bed. She found Santana's eyes still closed as she reached her side. Her chin was quivering, the silent tears falling down her embarrassed cheeks and leaving small patches on the pillow. Her arms were forced down, her hands gripping tightly to the material at the hem of her shorts, her legs tightly together. She looked terrified, especially when she began to shiver from the cold, and Brittany felt a tear of her own gather before slowly falling to the ground below her.

She took the few steps over to Santana, crouching next to the bed and watching her face for a moment longer. She lifted her hand, placing it on the same spot on Santana's arm and squeezing again. "We should change the sheets," she stated simply, her hand moving to Santana's cheek and wiping away the moisture that she found there. "I have a change of shorts that you can take."

The other girl opened her eyes only slightly, to which Brittany sent a smile. That smile that Santana was so good at. The sad smile. This time, however, it was sympathetic. It was understanding. Santana just watched her, waited for her to laugh, to pull away and grimace. Anything. But nothing came.

"Sit up," Brittany finally said after what felt like an eternity of silence. Santana's eyes closed again at the words. Brittany's hand moved to her friend's forearm, attempting to gently pull it away from it's position. Santana was stronger than she thought, or maybe it was just the sheer weight of embarrassment, but she fought against it with everything that she had. Brittany didn't pull harder, she simply continued to guide it, her touch still gentle and reassuring. "You have to move so that we can clean everything up."

Santana took a breath, a shaky yet steadying breath, and allowed her arm to be pulled away.

That arm was quickly followed by the next, Brittany leaving them to hang over the edge of the bed. She took both of her hands once they had been moved away, pulling softly and asking Santana to sit up again. With another long breath, the girl did as she was asked, her face still pained and legs still tightly together, as if it could still hide something.

Brittany moved Santana's hair from her face, her tears forming a glue as strands clung to her cheeks. As she saw Santana's eyes edge open, she smiled. This wasn't the sad smile, the sympathetic one. This was just a smile. A friendly smile. "You go take a shower, I'll change the sheets. Take some shorts from the same draw," she said simply, taking in Santana's body once more before finding the hem of her T-Shirt. She moved her hand to pull at it, seeing that it too had a dark patch along the bottom. "T-shirts are in the draw above."

Santana's eyes closed again instinctively, squeezing shut and making a few tears that were still gathered fall. She had to get up, to stand up and face the scene. She knew that it was the only way that she could get out of this mess, that she could get clean and let Brittany clear up her bed, but she couldn't. It was a walk of shame, with her shorts wet and cheeks darkened with embarrassment, from the bed to the shower. A walk that she didn't even think her legs would manage. They felt numb, she felt numb. She felt sick.

Brittany's hand was quickly back on her cheek again, making her heart jump. That weird jump that feels good but really scary at the same time. She still didn't know whether she liked it when that happened, it always made her feel sick. A different kind of sick. She leant into Brittany's hand slightly. Everything was confusing, everything was rushing around her brain so fast that she didn't have time to process or understand it. All she knew was that, once her heart had settled, Brittany's hand on her cheek was the only thing that made any sense.

Brittany felt her head move slightly, stroking her cheek with her thumb in return. "San, please," she tried. "I'll look away if you need me to, but I promise it's okay."

Santana opened her eyes again. She was still surprised to see that Brittany wasn't looking at her any differently than she had before. She still had those blue eyes that fluttered from one of Santana's to the other, and she still looked at Santana like she mattered. Like she cared. A ghost of a smile traced her lips. "Only while I leave. Please."

Brittany nodded, placing one last reassuring stroke on her cheek, and moved back. She turned, facing the wall, and waited until she heard the springs of her bed slowly moving. Santana was quiet in her movements, opening the draw softly after taking the light, slow steps to the other side of the room. She edged the door open, glancing one last time to make sure that Brittany hadn't turned around. Once satisfied, she took the change of shorts and t-shirt to the bathroom.

The water was warm. Not too hot, not too cold. It was perfect.

Predictable.

The Pierces were perfect. Every one of them. Their blonde hair, blue eyes, stereotypically bright, friendly home with the bright and friendly mother. Their father came home from work to a cooked dinner, talking with his daughters as they all ate together as a family. They were perfect.

Brittany was perfect.

Santana refused to look in the mirror the entire time she was in the bathroom. Luckily, the Pierces hadn't chosen any of the large mirrors that her own vanity obsessed mother had. She looked at her night shorts as they fell to the ground, grimacing before she kicked them to the side. She did the same with her underwear a few seconds later, all the while trying not to look down at her stomach that stuck out a little further than she wished it would. She sucked in, out of instinct, as she lifted her top over her head.

That was better.

* * *

Brittany had changed the sheets quickly after Santana left. Once she had gotten past the shock, she had been left with sympathy and sadness as she watched her friend curled up and frightened. That had eventually passed when she quickly glanced back and realized that Santana had left the room. She quietly opened her closet, a closet that her mother had inexplicably filled with sheets for any 'special emergencies'. To say that her mother was cautious and over protective would be an understatement, though Brittany knew nothing more. She didn't know anything other than her mother always being there for her, always making sure that everything was okay and that Brittany never faced any problems. She was always, _always_ there, and Brittany loved her for it.

She smiled in appreciation as she pulled some spare sheets and a comforter, closing the closet doors after her. She threw them on the ground, pulling the sheets off of the bed seconds later, carefully placing them on the ground in a ball. It was difficult at first, to get everything neat and in order without any help, but she had watched her mother perfect it enough times to know roughly what she was doing. The corners weren't as neat, and the comforter looked a little lumpy, but it would do.

She smiled at her attempts before glancing back down at the dirty sheets on the ground, a thoughtful look overcoming her face. She pulled out her notepad, quickly grabbing a pen off the side and scribbling a short note.

_I had a bad dream. Sorry._

Reading the note over once she ripped the paper from the pad, placing her pen back onto the side before taking the sheets from the room and downstairs to the laundry room. She placed them with the rest of the dirty washing, making sure that her note lay on top. Satisfied, she nodded once, again heading for the stairs and slowly climbing them. The shower had stopped, she noticed, but Santana still hadn't emerged. It had been almost fifteen minutes.

She slowly edged towards the door, tapping lightly and still trying to be as quiet as possible. Her house was big, and this was her and her sister's bathroom, but she still didn't want to wake her parents. "Santana?" she whispered, leaning close to the door.

"Yeah?" came a shaky reply on the other side after a moment or two.

"You okay?"

There was a silence that followed again, all Brittany could hear was scuffling on the other side. "Yeah."

Her replies were short, and not at all convincing, but Brittany didn't want to upset Santana further. She just wanted her to know that it was okay. "I'll need to put your clothes in the laundry. Can I come in?"

"No!" an instant reply came, a reply much louder than the girl on the other side seemed to intend, as she quickly followed up with a hushed 'sorry'.

Brittany nodded, still leaning against the wood and waiting. It was only a few seconds later when the toilet flushed, and almost a minute after that when Santana finally emerged, her hair still wet and a fresh pair of Brittany's pyjamas laying loosely over her figure. Brittany smiled, to which Santana did the same. Again, it wasn't a real smile. Brittany wondered if Santana even knew what a real smile felt like.

"I'm sorry about...everything," Santana breathed, looking down.

Brittany watched the shorter girl's eyes as they met the ground, her hands fidgeting in front of her own body. The blonde took a tentative step forwards and, without even really processing her actions, pulled her into a hug. She moved as closely as she could, their bodies melding together. "I'm just glad you're here," Brittany replied, squeezing tightly. "It's no big anyway."

She felt Santana's own hands snake around her back and cling to her t-shirt, a grin yet again settling on her lips as she registered the action. "You make me happy," she heard her muffled voice, the girl's warm breath catching her neck with each syllable. She also felt the heat rise in Santana's cheeks, clearly the words unintended and accidental.

Brittany just held tighter, hoping that her response was in some way comforting. "You too," she replied honestly.

Santana's grip loosened after what felt like hours but in reality was minutes, burying her face one last time into Brittany's neck before she slowly pulled away. She gave the girl a shy smile, again averting her gaze. "I'll help you clean up..."

"No. Go to bed," Brittany interjected. "I'll be in in a few minutes anyway."

Santana looked unsure but nodded anyway, scuttling away from the scene in that same nervous manner.

The bathroom was still steamy when Brittany stepped in, and the clothes that Santana wore were bundled in the corner. The mirror had been wiped, though there hadn't been a message left. It was unusual in their house, to walk into the bathroom after someone had taken a shower and _not_ see a quick note or picture on the mirror. It was kind of like a tradition. Even her mother and father left small notes in their own bathroom, though they were usually full of hearts and words like 'always' and 'forever'. Brittany examined the mirror. She saw nothing but a small, clear patch that her friend had obviously wiped. There were rough areas, however. The patterns looked angry, sprawled, and a hand print lay beside it.

Brittany frowned, turning her attention to the clothes that she had come in to gather in the first place. Something felt off, though she was sure it was due to the fact that it was so early in the morning, and that this night had turned out to be anything but the usual. There was an odd smell in the room. Probably just her shorts, she figured, though there was something else. She didn't know what, it just smelt bad. The toilet seat was up, too. Like, the way that her mother always yelled about when her father did it. It was up and resting against the back of the toilet. She had tried it that way when she was younger, but her mother always told her that she couldn't do it the way that boys did. You definitely couldn't, either. She had tried for months afterwords in an attempt to prove the woman wrong.

She had been right. Always right.

Her frown deepened, though she quickly shook her thoughts from her mind and pulled the seat down. It was late, or early she figured, and she needed to sleep. Or she needed to at least make sure that Santana was okay.

She picked up the clothes carefully, turning off the bathroom light behind her and again heading downstairs to the laundry room. She placed the pyjamas on top of the sheets that she had put there earlier, making sure that her note still lay on top, before heading back up the stairs. When she reached her room, she found Santana laying on her side and watching the door, a slight smile on her face as she saw Brittany emerge through the doorway. The taller girl returned the gesture, closing the door softly behind her and moving over to the bed, allowing herself to slip in beside her friend. "Comfy?" she asked, manoeuvring until she lay on her side, her head resting on the pillow and watching Santana looking back at her.

The other girl nodded. "Thank you."

Brittany reached over, again moving Santana's stray hairs from her face. "Don't worry about it."

"I feel stupid," Santana laughed pitifully, her cheeks darkening again.

Brittany shook her head defiantly, pulling her hand away and laying it on the pillow between them. "You don't need to. It's totally cool. Lord Tubbington peed on my bed once. Like, all over it. My mom wouldn't let him upstairs again until he promised to only use the litter box."

Santana chuckled lightly. "And he promised?"

"Only to me," Brittany replied victoriously. "But anyway, it's cool. It's happened before." They lay in silence for a minute or so, just simply smiling at one another, just being content. There was no problems, no worries, no anything. Just them in the room lit only by Brittany's dim bedside lamp. "I told them it was me."

Santana's brows furrowed in confusion. "Told who what was you?"

"I wrote a note. I told my mom that the sheets and stuff were me, so they won't know. I promise."

"You don't have to do that," she quickly protested, tensing slightly.

Brittany watched her concern with a smile, again shaking her head. "I saw how you were when I figured it out. You were scared, and embarrassed." She watched the brown eyes look away, look down, so she went on. "You don't have to be scared with me. You don't have to be scared with my parents either, but I figure it's one step at a time, right? You trust me first, then you trust the people I trust. It's like dominoes. A chain...thingy."

"Reaction," Santana offered, lifting her eyes again and watching in wonder. Brittany was so different, so insightful, yet no one would ever guess it. She was an open book, open for anyone to read and understand, though no one seemed to take the time. She was the dumb blonde. Except she wasn't. She was a lot more, and Santana knew that already. "Thank you." It was all she could think to say, all she knew how to say, so she figured it was enough.

Brittany seemed to agree, as she again became silent. She observed the other girl; her eyes, her mouth, her neck, her everything. The scrutiny made Santana's head spin, so she quickly closed her eyes, hoping that it would make it easier to sit and be looked at. _Really_ looked at.

It didn't.

She closed her eyes tighter, so much so that she was sure the areas around her eyes were white with the tension. She could hear Brittany's soft breathing, consciously trying to match it with her own which was growing more erratic by the second. It only made the whole act of breathing at all harder, and her chest felt nauseatingly constricted.

She stilled suddenly at the feel of Brittany's hand on her own, pulling it gently from just beneath he comforter. She edged her eyes open, watching Brittany's face as she focused on their hands, moving Santana's carefully and delicately, before reaching the pillow and laying it down. She

watched Santana's wide eyes with an amused grin before leaning over to her bedside lamp, quickly turning it off. The shorter girl felt the bed move in the darkness as Brittany made herself comfortable, it becoming calmer a few moments later as the sound of a content sigh filled the air. It was then that she felt the girl's finger tips back on her hand, and after a few seconds of blind touching, she felt a pinky being softly linked with her own.

Their arms and hands moved, getting comfortable, before they came to rest between their bodies.

"Goodnight, San."

"Goodnight, Brittany."


End file.
